Metaphysics
by anais mark
Summary: Edward & Bella are graduate students in London 'coincidentally' researching the same poets. More than 300 years after the fact, Carlisle & Edward must find out why Carlisle's past won't stay there - before Bella digs it up researching her thesis.
1. Prologue

_**Disclaimer: **__The Twilight Saga and its characters belong to Stephenie Meyer._

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_Main Entry:_** Meta·phys·i·cal **

_Function:_** adjective **

_Date:_** 15th century **

**1 : **of or relating to metaphysics

**2a : **of or relating to the transcendent or to a reality beyond what is perceptible to the senses **b :** supernatural

**3 : **highly abstract or abstruse; also : theoretical

**4 **_(often capitalized_) **:** of or relating to poetry especially of the early 17th century that is highly intellectual and philosophical and marked by unconventional imagery

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**London, 1688**

I'd not encountered an object that one could truly call immovable in this new life…until Sophie had made up her mind. Usually, her tenacity drove me to think deeper or reconsider, to simplify my argument. Before this moment, I'd admired it.

I pleaded my case again, citing every rationale for our continued dialogue as it occurred to me. The pragmatic and the sentimental bled together and were indistinguishable. She knew the arguments as well as, probably better than, I did. She'd had longer to consider them.

I'd learned the folly of discounting the time spent sleeping from the tally of time humans had at their disposal. Dark, tangled knots unwound themselves in their dreams and I envied them the outlet. Just another precious piece of my humanity I'd taken for granted and for which I now longed. _Dream on. _

Until I'd exhausted the possibilities, I would leave unsatisfied. Leaving in any form would be unsatisfying, but if an unexplored means of maintaining our bond occurred to me later, I wasn't sure I could forgive myself.

My time was running out; I could see her patience wane as clearly as one sees the sun set on a cloudless day. That the situation had escalated before I could salvage it saddened me. I had hoped that I was finally making friends of a semi-permanent nature - as permanent as one could consider human friends.

The moment her intuitive mind began detailing the physical and spiritual chasm that lay between us, and the possible reasons for it, the change in attitude followed quickly. Cold air rushed in to fill the vacuum left by her silently rescinded affection. Where our conversations among friends had once been marked by candor and esteem, and even wit and banter, her contributions to the informal salon convened alternately in her library and mine were swiftly replaced with barely-veiled jibes and acrimony. She directed her newly-minted acid tongue at me, verbally impaling me because, though my body didn't show signs of normal wear and tear, I worried when the humans around me did.

"_Not all of us are so blessed with such even, porcelain skin as Mr. Cullen."_

She seemed the only person to take notice of me, across the room from the hearth, when all the others were busily warming themselves on the first frosty autumn evening, not a week before.

"_It's never chilly enough to cool icy Mr. Cullen. Must not be a coincidence that ours is the only society he keeps."_

She made me rethink the humanity of my every gesture. Because of her quick eye, I began warming my hands with cups of tea and cider. Occasionally, I coughed. I even complained of headaches, at first to avoid inconvenient interactions, but later for camouflage. Because I'd been trying so hard to blend in more, the timing of her reprobation surprised me. It seemed to be without a source, or at least, less of one. Of course, that was only because she hadn't allowed me to become privy to the source…not yet, at least.

I couldn't understand what she wanted from me. Naively assuming that no person could piece together my existence, I had crossed that off the list of possibilities. Was I to _apologize_ for my missing wrinkles? Maybe she thought some sort of witchcraft was to blame for my physical differences. It seemed unlikely, rational little creature that she was, but I couldn't toss the theory aside without looking into it. I'd explained to them my "condition" that kept me out of the sun and they had all pitied me. Why had she smelled the lie when the others hadn't? Did she want me to take the bait and confess my secrets to this room full of innocents? Why try this _in public_? Why not wait for an appropriate venue for shared confidences?

Because I wouldn't tell, no matter the circumstance, would I? She couldn't know that…could she?

It took me an incredibly long four weeks to determine that she had guessed I was not human…and that she was _angry_ about my ruse. Was she trying to intimidate _me_ and chase me off? Yes, she was. And, she was very effectively brandishing the only weapon she had - the threat of exposure.

Knowing I was in no position to respond to her thinly disguised accusations, they escalated to the point that I feared someone else would begin to understand what she had. Her pointed jabs about my diet, my pallor, even my sleepless nights were practically spelling out to the others how I differed from them.

How could she know that I didn't sleep?

How did she know what I ate? Imagining her nearby while I hunted made me shiver, though I couldn't remember what it felt like to be cold. No lady should be exposed to such violence.

And, then, there was the matter of her own blood. If she were anywhere near enough to watch me hunt, I would know. No deer blood would entice me sufficiently to distract from her scent, no matter how faint. How could I ignore _her_ and settle for whatever wandered through the park?

She smelled like dessert. Warm and spicy like cinnamon and vanilla and apples…with cream. One evening, her library was especially warm with all the bodies and their lub-dubbing hearts pressed in together and a fire roaring. She drank a cup of tea, raising her body temperature above the others. Her cheeks began to flush from the warmth, her aroma intensified and changed a little. I wondered that the others didn't notice the caramel scent in the air.

My enhanced senses were a double-edged blade. The advantages were obvious. The inconveniences lay in wait, ready to sabotage me at the most surprising moments. They were quite discerning for inanimate objects.

My initial draw to her, I was ashamed to admit, had more to do with her scent than her intellect. Even being drawn to her lovely face would have been less disgusting to my sensibilities.

The truth was that she smelled the way I remembered human kitchens and someone else's mother, the one thing I coveted. Having lost my own, I wanted nothing more.

And, so, while other young men harbored fantasies of wealth, power and lust, my most illicit thoughts were of taking something just out of my reach as well. With the idea of a mother comes her domain. In my memories of human life, a kitchen was the heart of that domain. Human food was so unpalatable to me now that I knew Sophie didn't actually have the same aroma. But, the impression left in my memory was the same one I received from breathing in the air she flavored. She smelled like home, more seductive to this orphan than anything overtly sexual.

Though I struggled with the more predatory aspects of my nature, I feared that she assumed something even more distasteful than reality. The most mundane parts of my existence were horrifying, I couldn't imagine that someone so sheltered could imagine worse. I had to acknowledge it as a possibility, however.

She was right, of course. Severing any connection with me was the best course for her. However, I loathed leaving her without knowing explicitly what she believed about me before I left.

Every means I devised to discuss it brought me to another impasse. Letters could be found. Anything blatantly worded was like signing our own death certificate. Anything less than blatant left room for misunderstanding...and I had no intention of walking away until I knew she thought nothing less or more awful than the truth. The unvarnished truth was enough. Speaking at length would be inappropriate without a chaperone for her benefit, but doing so in front of an audience was not an option. I stubbornly refused to put an end to our relationship and I said so to her. I would continue to work until I came to a solution.

Sophie bravely performed the surgical incision I could not. Were tears an option for me, they would have been put to good use under her scalpel.

The kindness I'd come to crave in the past months visited Sophie's features briefly. "I know that I have been caustic and truly unkind. I can only rationalize it by saying it was in hopes that you would choose to sever our connection solely _because_ of my shameful conduct. I should have known better; in not thinking more of you I have insulted you anew. You, being the gentleman you are, chose instead to excuse my acrimony and for that I am truly sorry." Momentarily, she dropped her head in shame and I fought the urge to tip her chin up. Losing that warm gaze was physically painful.

The softness in her eyes drew me like a moth to a flame. I realized what humans felt when I tried to be truly persuasive. It shamed me to sink to such depths to get what I wanted, but I reconsidered as she drew me in.

The initial draw was the face itself. Even, handsome features were an attraction by design. Who was I to fight against the Designer? Her brows were very dark and a tad heavy for fashion. I decided they were a necessity to balance the luxuriant femininity of her eyes. A lacy web of coffee colored lashes surrounded her brown eyes. The bottom lashes were unusually long. When the light hit her face just right, a human would notice the flakes of emerald that ran through the mahogany like a vein of ore. The left eye was almost entirely dark green sometimes. With my visual acuity, her irises were a kaleidoscope, the colors and shapes shifting with every change in the angle at which the light struck them.

A straight nose smattered with light freckles sloped down to the wide swath of her rose mouth. Her features, individually, were too prominent, too showy for them to be called pretty. Her face was arresting. Even the three darker freckles- especially the one near her right temple, at the hairline- were unconventional…and _interesting_. Her chestnut hair didn't have a trace of red in it. Strands of gold stood out where I expected copper.

I would have loved to do anything to erase any need for her to feel sorry, to bring her bottom lip back into alignment. To make it turn up into a smile, however briefly. I wasn't greedy. I would perform again for a second smile.

With that, it dawned on me that maybe I was, in some twisted way, doing them a favor, too, when I allowed some easily-influenced human to earn another smile. I didn't have long to ponder my own virtue. Sophie found the will and continued, with no less warmth, but considerably more bite, "However generous your _nature_ might allow you to be, I cannot confess the same generosity of spirit in my…_weaker_ state. No good can come of our continued connection…not for me. I cannot imagine what you hope to gain. You _must_ leave. Surely, Mr. Cullen, you cannot mistake my intent, even given my maddeningly vague language on the subject of motivation."

The time for negotiating a peace had passed, it seemed. Retreat didn't mean I couldn't come back to fight another day. I begged. "You have expressed your sentiments more than adequately, S- Miss Copeland." I corrected myself quickly. The favor of first names was no longer extended, it seemed. I attempted another liberty instead. "But, if I might take just a moment more of your time-"

She said in a low murmur, "While no constraints may exist on your on time, mine is markedly more finite. I will bid you good evening, and," with the finality of the closing of a tomb, "farewell." She tucked her chin and dipped her head, holding her curtsy in an obvious attempt to avoid my eye. She did not lift her face again before I exited her library.

Could I close my tomb, I could make amends for so much.

* * *

**London, 2009**

Brushing the matted hair from my face, I allowed my heavy eyes a moment to open so they could take in the room. Momentarily, I found myself uncertain of what I would see when I pried my eyelids apart.

My familiar second-story window and the always rain-soaked tree just beyond? Or maybe my small room in Phoenix with the top of the neighbors' window just visible over the privacy fence so close I could touch?

Curtains obscured the window above my bed and kept out the streetlight, but its location was just enough to orient me.

Tiny bedroom, little apartment, postage-stamp bed and an even less significant life - my pre-dawn powers of deduction led me to the conclusion that I could be in only one place. What did Holmes tell Watson?

"When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, _however improbable_, must be the truth."

London, old letters, no life. Not too many outcomes would have seemed less probable to me a year ago than studying abroad. And yet, here I was.

Sleep fled as I remembered my surroundings. I hadn't quite gotten the hang of calling these three rooms "home" and my longing for the familiar propelled me out of bed to my laptop, hoping for the digital equivalent of milk and cookies.

A single message lay in wait, a predator stalking my inbox.

My breath caught in my throat and I had to make a conscious effort to push the air out.

The message itself was innocent enough. Rather than allow its implications to gnaw away at me, I darted back to bed to hide under my covers. Armed with the knowledge that I had two hours before my alarm would wake me, I silently willed sleep to provide escape.

Half an hour passed with no result.

I gave myself an extra half hour on my alarm and tried to sleep.

The gray light oozing around my dark curtains and the accompanying noises outside forced me to acknowledge I would receive no such reprieve. I pulled the covers over my head in defeat.

A familiar voice permeated the meager protection of my bedclothes.

"It's time, Bella. Don't cower behind your blankets. You have to get out of bed sometime."

Soft laughter mocked my weakness, at the same time salving the wound it caused.

His dexterous fingers brushed the crown of my head as they grasped the edge of my duvet and began to inch it back.

The caress was intentional. His every action was an indictment where I was concerned.

His fingers halted their advance before they uncovered my eyes and combed through the hair just above my forehead. They traced my brows.

This assault would certainly not bait me out of my cocoon. I could remain right here an awfully long time. An immodestly long time.

A hand ran down my cheekbone and just touched the tip of my nose. One particularly daring digit ventured farther beneath the covers to trace the outline of my upper lip.

I inhaled though I knew what the breath would hold for me - I felt the choking bliss before I smelled the cause. My response was Pavlovian in the extreme.

Nothing sweet from him remained untainted.

The jarring noise of my alarm caused him to withdraw his hand and I made an unintelligible noise of protest.

"I refuse to turn that off for you, I'll never see your face if I do. Please, Bella? Please get up?"

I slung an arm out towards the alarm clock. Off, snooze, I didn't care which button I hit. The contrast of the pleading voice and screeching alarm made the awful noise that much worse.

My room was deathly silent. I blinked my eyes open and glanced around for the owner of that heavenly voice. With a wry chuckle, I willed myself to wake up and deal with reality.

The beguiling voice was unmistakable and, though I never saw a face, I didn't need one to place the speaker. Why would I be dreaming of Edward Cullen again? I hadn't even seen him in almost seven years. What would tempt him to darken my door?

By "my door" I meant London, but the principle still applied.

Was it the simple pleasure of torturing me…again? Surely he'd moved on to greener pastures since high school.

I sighed, remembering the e-mail from Alice Cullen that awaited my response.

It was a good thing the subjects of my dissertation were long dead. They'd feel sorely today neglected were they not.

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**Author's Note:** This is my first fic...you have no idea how helpful your words would be.


	2. Chapter One

**For Z**

_Disclaimer: The Twilight Saga and its characters are owned by Stephenie Meyer. _

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**London, 2009**

For the sixth time in as many hours, four of which had been spent on seminars, I logged in to my e-mail account and reread the short, friendly message from Alice Cullen. Though its contents were firmly in my memory, I needed to reassure myself that I hadn't misunderstood. There were days I couldn't remember what I'd eaten or if I'd even stopped for breakfast.

A girl never could be too careful.

_Stop kidding yourself, Bella._

I _prayed_ that I had misunderstood. A single word misremembered could change an important fact…_the_ important fact. If only I could re-type that one word and make it so. The now-familiar message appeared on the screen and I read it again.

**Dear Bella, **

**My family is relocating to London next month. I understand that you are already attending Queen Mary University. It would be lovely to see you, especially since Edward and I will be attending Queen Mary as well. Seeing a familiar face will be such a comfort - especially yours! Let me know if you have ideas for getting together or any suggestions to help us settle in.**

**I so look forward to hearing from you!**

**All the Best-**

**Alice Cullen**

If just that one name were different, I could breathe in and out without feeling oppressed.

I closed my eyes and opened them again, looking at the screen. Still the same. She typed the name Edward. Not Jasper, or even Rosalie. Edward Cullen would be attending university with me. I would be walking a campus looking over my shoulder at every turn…again.

The last six months had been an adjustment for me, I couldn't deny that. But, anonymity helped. Strangers didn't call me by first name at every turn. More people lived on my street than in the entire sleepy town of Forks. I had no expectations to overcome and, gradually, I found my way from my tiny apartment - _flat_, in the colloquial - to school and the library.

Those three places consumed the lion's share of my time, rendering my having to find anywhere else practically unnecessary. No longer did I stammer and blush my way through class discussions, even when the allusions to topics of a sexual nature were anything but discreet. I mean, who doesn't blush just a little bit when they read _Leda and the Swan_? Not that awkwardness or flaming cheeks had disappeared from my interactive repertoire. Far from it. But, they occurred with far less regularity than in years past.

I began reassuring myself, listing reasons that this chance happening didn't have to become a black hole on the horizon. At first, my litany was internal as I brushed my teeth and showered. Over tea and toast in my tiny flat, my internal ramblings progressed to frantic whispers and, occasionally, even more easily audible outbursts as I spoke to the girl in my mirror with the foamy mouth.

My panic escalated to what I considered fever pitch when I realized that none of my seminar notes had a thing to do with John Donne. I had written close to two dozen reasons that the Cullens' arrival in London should be nothing but a pleasant coincidence, the most embarrassing of which referred to Jasper, probably Alice's _husband_ by now, as "eye candy a la Lord Byron". _Where had that come from? _Try as I might, I couldn't recall _ever _ogling Jasper in the year our attendance at Forks High overlapped. Maybe I would have, if that year hadn't been dominated by other…distractions. For that matter, my contact with Alice had been sparse. Senior year we had three classes together, but I'd never eaten lunch at "their" table or spent an evening dishing with her on the phone.

Aside from landing myself with some regularity in Dr. Cullen's emergency room, my Cullen interaction had primarily been with Edward. And that, to outrageously understate the matter, hadn't gone so well. Claiming responsibility for his transfer to boarding school was more than my modest sense of self-importance would allow. Even so, I couldn't help but feel that some portion of his reason for leaving involved me.

Topping off his strange animosity in Mr. Banner's Biology class, he'd disappeared from school for more than a week, citing only "personal reasons". While he'd given acting normal a go on his return, it didn't take long for his behavior to disintegrate to surly once again. I tried ignoring him, but I couldn't avert my eyes long enough to get in the habit.

Avoidance didn't work, he was everywhere - beside me in class, eyeing me across the parking lot, watching me uneasily in the cafeteria. I went so far as to extend the olive branch at the end of my first year at Forks High.

A week after I suggested we be "friends", Edward left for Swiss boarding school. Who the hell goes to Swiss boarding school in the twenty-first century? Aside, obviously, from the Swiss, or possibly someone who doesn't live on the other side of the globe, I guess. All the evidence pointed to his exodus resulting from my arrival.

He'd better not assume I'd return the favor when he arrived in London.

Even after I'd lied more times than I could count _on his behalf_, he ignored my questions. No, he didn't ignore them. He acknowledged them and refused to dignify them with a response, far more maddening to me.

I remember the final straw, the one that broke the whole camel. He broke a self-imposed embargo he'd instituted on "contact with Bella" after saving me to tell me _not talking _was better. Than what? Had there ever, in our meager contact with one another, been a significant variation from not talking with which to compare it? Not as far as I could tell. And yet, he stopped not talking to me so that he could let me know that he wouldn't be talking to me. As a seventeen-year-old girl in a new school, my feelings had been hurt, even though the more middle-aged soul it housed was just plain angry.

My inner spinster won out.

"_It's too bad you didn't figure that out earlier, you could have saved yourself all this regret."_

He'd denied my accusation viciously, though his actions spoke volumes in my favor.

"_You don't know anything." _He practically spat the words in a tone so disdainful, so contemptuous, that I gave a second's thought to the possibility that I _didn't_ know anything. What kind of cad plays Jedi mind tricks like that?

In typical Bella fashion, I caught my boot on something, probably the ground, while attempting a sweeping exit and dropped my books. Edward rushed in gallantly - a beguiling reflex to aid his misdirection, I theorized - and helped put me back together.

Thanking him caused me physical pain, like coughing up rusty nails.

Throughout the rest of the school year, we had occasional, unavoidable interaction. None of our run-ins resulted in more than cursory exchanges yet, his palpable animosity combined with his constant, haunting presence plagued me, even my dreams. Less often, if that were possible, he would speak to me or look at me in a way that made me melt.

I hated him for it. His haughty disdain wounded me less.

After the blood-typing incident, the embargo was back in full effect until the next time I tripped or dropped my keys. It got to the point that he would give me back whatever I'd lost control over without a word or even eye contact.

He acted as if I were a part of an assembly line process.

To my chagrin, I began dreaming of him the night after he pulled me from in front of - and, then, from underneath - Tyler's van.

Some nights he was obscured by fog and shadow, just like everything else in Forks. Other nights he might be a dark avenging superhero, complete with radioactive insects and shadowy villains to fight. On occasion, I woke pondering which Bronte sister to thank for the brooding apparition who appeared unannounced and spoke in riddles heavy with hidden meaning.

But my favorite dream incarnation came later, after he'd left for Switzerland and that long after my acknowledging his continued existence should have ceased, much less my _dreaming_ of him. During physics, Alice mentioned that he'd sent some of his piano compositions for her to listen to because she'd missed hearing them so much.

The rest of the class was wasted on me.

That very night, I dreamt of Edward playing a baby grand piano in the desert, my desert, my _home_. No place was safe from him any longer.

It was gloriously hot and bright, the kind of day I'd longed for since moving to Forks. Baking air rose in ghostly fingers from every surface and my still surroundings hummed and crackled from the heat. The sun beamed off the lacquered piano, illuminating him as he played for me. From far away, the light glinting off the piano's surface, refracted every which way, made it nearly impossible to look directly at him.

I wanted to see him and walked that direction, uncertain if he could even see me. Up close, he looked like an angel.

Even when the smug bastard was gone, he refused to go away. I saw his perfect face everywhere.

How could such a beautiful boy be such a sullen mess? It was tragic, really. He could probably have had anything in the entire physical world that he wanted, his smile was practically heart-stopping when it came out of hiding, and yet he pushed himself away from people with both hands. And the harder he pushed away, the stronger the pull I felt towards him. _Perverse, Bella_.

I had explained the phenomenon away early in my college career. Most of the girls I befriended had developed a crush on a "bad boy", a boy they wanted to save. Most of the boys in question were good-looking with troubled pasts, so I saw them as a type for Edward. But, I eventually decided I was pushing a square peg in a round hole. _He_ had saved _me_, hadn't he? His family life seemed perfect. No angst there. No one in that family was dealing with getting over being the "chunky kid" or the "awkward kid".

I just couldn't shape him into the "bad boy" mold. After that, I hadn't come up with a suitable explanation for his apparently inexplicable behavior.

The very thought of him in my orbit again threw me into a tailspin. Acknowledging that fact made me feel small and adolescent.

I reread the message from Alice a seventh time. I opened my composition book to my list of reasons his presence in London would have no negative effect on me. My first instinct had been to throw the damn list away, and yet here I was referring to it. Legitimizing it.

Finally, I decided that doing something would help settle my agitation and re-establish, if only in my own mind, my maturity. Obsessing certainly wasn't helping. I hit "reply" and labored for half an hour over a short response to her seemingly benign request.

**Dear Alice, **

**What a surprise! Familiar faces certainly are few and far between for me. I would enjoy seeing you, too. I spend a great deal of my free time at the library, so I am not too familiar with many local establishments. If you have something in mind, whether it's fish-and-chips or more exotic, I'll ask around and find somewhere to meet up. Just let me know.**

**Lovely to hear from you, I look forward to seeing you soon.**

**Yours, **

**Bella**

Friendly, generic and absolutely no mention of _him_. I hit "send" before I had the chance to reconsider.

Seeing my In Box full of messages from Renee reminded me to write my mother. The tone in her last two letters had escalated to panicky because of my bland responses. Afraid my lack of enthusiasm for writing (that I hadn't been assigned) was due to homesickness, she was threatening to plan a visit. An international incident would surely follow. A response was more than writing my mother, it was my civic duty.

By the time I made a cup of tea and sat back down, Alice Cullen had sent me another message. What time was it wherever she was? Since I didn't know where, I couldn't guess. Afraid its contents would delay my response to Renee, I hammered out five hundred words - I used the word count tool to check - before I would allow myself to open it.

Again, her message revealed few details and was generically optimistic in tone.

**Dear Bella, **

**How sweet of you to reply so promptly! We will arrive sooner than we had expected. We'll land in London next Tuesday. I'm sure you're tired of it already, but the library sounds like an excellent first outing for this new student. Maybe Wednesday? No need to trouble anyone else for restaurant details. Emmett has put himself in charge of scouting the food situation. I should warn you, he is rehearsing an awful accent to put on, he says it will help him fit in. I won't make you be seen in public with him.**

**Again, I can't express how excited I am to see you again! Let me know if Wednesday is bad for you, we can get together anytime you can fit me in. **

**Take care-**

**Alice**

Her message left the impression that the whole family would be relocating. Her "we" would be arriving Tuesday. Maybe Edward would be relocating with a girlfriend. That _would _help shake some of the nonsense swirling about in my head. A beautiful, leggy, erudite girlfriend with a trust fund. A wife and children wouldn't be out of the question, but I doubted he would still be laboring away at school with his sister if that were the case.

What _would_ Edward's wife look like? How many hours of yoga and facials would a woman have to put herself through each week to not look out of place with him in public? Or, to not look out of place with Rosalie and Alice? It _must_ be genetic. Looks like that are either given to you at birth or they're not.

For that matter, what would his children look like?

What kind of father would he be? He may have been surly to me, but I'd seen him interact with his family. He wasn't the monster I made him out to be. Not all the time. I imagined him as a disciplinarian sort of father, but engaged, not unlike Dr. Cullen seemed.

_Bella. Enough_.

Daydreaming about Edward's imaginary children by another woman caused me to put a moratorium on _all_ Cullen speculation. At least it had served some purpose. Alice said their plane arrived in less than a week and I had more work in that time than I could attend to with all my cylinders firing properly.

Jake would be proud of the automotive metaphor. Not so much, the reason for it. He minced no words regarding his dislike of the Cullens.

Jake would have to find out that they were here. If I didn't tell him, someone, probably whoever told Alice I was here, would leak the word of their arrival in London. _That_ was I conversation I could wait to have.

The entire town had to know Dr. Cullen left, why hadn't Charlie said something?

* * *

For the next five days, I poured myself into research like a woman possessed. Not an inaccurate comparison, as it turned out.

Since the move to London, my dreams of Edward had dialed back in frequency and intensity.

After my exchange with Alice, my subconscious went rogue. I saw misty Edward almost nightly and I woke myself up reaching for him through an inexorable Earl-Grey-and-vanilla-scented fog.

The dream of him playing the piano illuminated by the desert sun was still the most vivid. And, somehow, my greedy subconscious wasn't satisfied with its own first incarnation of him. Really, the first dream had all the ingredients I should have required, more was overt gluttony. Yet each time he returned to keys of the baby grand under the Sonoran sun, new events unfolded, layered on to the ones from the night before. Disconcerting events that were stacking up like a house of cards.

Twice, his face simply closed in on mine and the invasion unnerved me. The space he now occupied was mine…at least it had been until he took it over. And I found that, the longer he staked his claim, the more noticeable the pull I felt towards him. But, even that soon became stale and my greedy dream broke new ground. The third night, he exhaled and I breathed in, taking a long drag of whatever illegal substance his breath laced the air with.

Then, on the fourth night, his long fingers swept up my cheekbone towards my temple, taking a stray piece of hair back exactly where it belonged - wherever he put it.

He smiled wickedly and told me, "I never said I _wanted_ to avoid you. I only said it would be better."

I woke up confused, having to convince myself that I hadn't actually felt his hand, his fingers still shockingly cold despite the midday heat, brush my hair from my face. The confusion was mostly due to the fact that I didn't want to believe my dream wasn't reality. I was sitting bolt upright in my bed with my hair tucked neatly behind my ears, smelling faintly of bergamot and vanilla. My subconscious had taken possession of all my mental faculties. It was practically stalking him.

Only my research distracted me…which was also a kind of stalking. A couple centuries' worth of separation somehow made it more socially acceptable.

* * *

In my third year of college, I was close to graduating early. My scholarship, however, covered four years of in-state tuition, so I decided to use them all of them at UW and put off graduate work one more semester.

That turned out providentially.

Instead of leaving, I took a metaphysical poetry course outside of my comfort zone and my professor, Isobel Lourdes, really took me under her wing. We genuinely hit it off, so I couldn't dismiss it as something superficial like the similarity of our names. She _liked_ me. I hadn't yet learned that most professors in her specialty leaned towards caustic in their humor, for the same reason that they would be interested in poets that could treat even the most sacred bonds with irreverence. My other teachers and professors had appreciated me for being a low-maintenance student, but none of them liked me. Certainly, none of them enjoyed my sarcasm.

My interest in metaphysical poets grew. I wrote a paper for Isobel's class on a poet, Sir William Copeland, arguing that his unpublished works could be classified as metaphysical. He corresponded with his niece, Sophie, and that's where the unpublished poetry originated. She returned his letters filled with verses of her own, it seemed. Her verses quoted in his letters were heart-breaking in their treatment of love and redemption and I found myself reminded of them constantly.

I began applications for graduate work in comparative literature somewhere near Charlie or Renee, thinking I would go into teaching when I finished, but I could never shake her words from my memory.

Because of a letter from Isobel, I found an obscure grant from the Pacific Northwest Trust that would cover research in London.

The rest was a blur of applications and student visas. Something compelled me to know about her and little was written. I would have to find it out for myself.

She was just a citation in a few articles on her uncle. William Copeland lived and died in London and his descendants there were surprisingly gracious about allowing me access to his substantial volume of writings, including letters _to _Sophie. I was pleasantly shocked to learn they had over two hundred of them spanning twenty years.

They lived less than a mile from one another and yet they maintained a significant written correspondence, a flurry of which happened over a two-year period from 1688 to 1691.

The six months I'd spent reading and analyzing and cross-referencing his correspondence had been engrossing, but I was coming to the end of his letters and had learned precious little about Sophie Copeland.

I still had huge gaps in my timeline where letters were clearly missing. Not to be critical of the family, it was impressive that his estate possessed so many of his letters. They don't often find their way back to the writer. One letter of hers was in the stack the Copeland estate possessed and they hadn't even been aware of it.

Why didn't his estate have the letters _she _sent to _him_? Letters addressed to him should have been in his possession. _Those_ letters should have been passed down.

That one letter in her handwriting was all I'd seen, but I was certain I would recognize her spare, if decidedly feminine, script from twenty feet away. The opportunity would never present itself, I feared. Anxiety that I was looking for something that didn't want to be found ate at me. A few of William's letters remained for me to read and I was already considering reviewing the ones I'd pored over for months.

The night after Alice's scheduled arrival, the dark, avenging dream Edward recited to me Sophie's words about redemption. They were strangely appropriate on his lips. Reverential, coming from his mouth as a hushed prayer. He whispered her words so earnestly, almost as if he were trying to convince himself. Then, the next day, his musical voice spoke the words of William's letters as I tried to get some work done before I met Alice. I was awake, but still not safe. I read the same half page thirteen times before noon and had not a clue what it said. I gave up and donned my coat in preparation for the cold outside.

* * *

Alice waited on the library steps. Nothing about her looked different. Even on this cold, damp November day, her hair was elegantly random, the ends flipped every which way, and her clothes were enviably chic. If someone from a major design house saw her, their newest crop of five-foot-tall supermodels would need a booster seat just to see over the dash of an SUV. Involuntarily, I smiled. She'd already spotted me and crossed the distance between us quickly.

I was about to extend a gloved hand in greeting when she gave me a short embrace. Short, but substantial.

Still holding both my hands between us, she exclaimed, "Bella, you haven't changed! You're still a confection."

She never looked at anything the way the rest of us did. "You're being too kind. It's lovely to see you. You look like a page from _Vogue_."

Even her cognac leather boots smiled. "Say it's French _Vogue_ and I'll give you my eternal devotion. Jasper can share!"

I glanced down at her hand, only to be disappointed by a glove hiding her ring finger. "_Eternal_ eternal? Oh - I…can I ask that?" Taken in by her effusive greeting, I felt suddenly as if I'd overstepped.

She made a gesture to dismiss my concern. "Of course, you can ask. We _are_ married. As are Rose and Emmett. I should probably tell you now, not knowing a soul in London outside my family officially makes you the best friend I have here. Tell me when I test the limits of your hospitality. I'm keyed up about living in London as it is. Overstimulated, Jasper says."

"I could use the shot in the arm. And, maybe playing host will help me widen out a bit." Where had all this friendliness been in high school?

"I really appreciate it. Let's see the tomes!"

* * *

_**A/N** I have collected a formidable family in the world of fanfiction. For your banter, vocabulary (whether scholarly or, um, not so much) and boundless, optimistic energy, I cannot thank you enough. I was up to my neck in this venture before I had a moment for second thoughts. _

_Danni, you are indeed a queen. I am but a humble servant, divested of awkward phrasing and cumbersome commas. I'm sure someone found a mistake and I'm even more certain I am to blame._

_GT and Cosmo, I'm without the right combination of adoring, witty and humble to thank you two. I'll get there, I swear. If I just had a riding crop, I'd show you... _


	3. Chapter Two

As always, this is Stephenie Meyer's world and I am playing in it.

**London, 2009**

Three hours and one tiny whirlwind later, Alice and I arrived back on the front steps of the library. Alice was checking a text.

"I'm sure your evening is already sewn up, but Esme and Carlisle said they'd love to see you. Would you like to stop by now? She'll only bother me until I insist you come with me…."

_Edward. _I couldn't do it. All I could think of was his palpable hatred. Not even Alice's hurricane force goodwill could combat that.

"I need to get home, I think. And, you guys are just getting settled in. I couldn't impose myself so soon," I stammered. Just put me in front of old acquaintances and high school Bella was back.

Alice looked appalled. "Oh, God. I can't imagine what you think of _me_ imposing myself so soon. Now you _have_ to come, even if it's only to make me feel better. You will be eating supper this evening, yes?"

"Eventually." Her innocent question made me suspect her immediately. Before I could flesh out my suspicion, her phone was to her ear.

"Then it's done. I'm already calling them." I couldn't imagine a situation where she didn't get her way. Asking me to come had been a formality.

As it turned out, my alarm was totally without cause. Carlisle, Esme and Jasper had already eaten and no one else was home. Emmett and Rosalie were arriving the next day on the same flight as Edward. He wasn't even in the country. Not even on the same continent. My breaths came more evenly the rest of the evening.

Carlisle and Esme were exactly as I remembered them, as gracious as they were stunning. Esme made me sit down in her flawless, creamy sofa with a plate of food she'd made for me when Alice and I were on the way to her home. I was so caught up in the conversation and so concerned with not leaving a crumb on her upholstery that I didn't notice Alice hadn't gotten a plate until I was almost done.

Esme gave me a glass of red wine. It might as well have been a loaded gun, the way I looked at it. Carlisle, probably remembering the last time our paths had crossed, chuckled. I couldn't put my finger on which injury he chose to amuse himself with, any of them would work. He put it on the table beside me. Lowering his voice, he said, "The boys will be here tomorrow. Esme has ScotchGuard on everything. It's just like an invisible tarp." I melted a little bit when he winked at me and promptly felt guilty for it.

"Yes, but is it Bella-proof?" I tried to keep my voice down to match his volume, but it wasn't low enough to evade Esme's supersonic Mom-hearing. She probably had eyes in the back of her head, as well, having raised so many children.

Esme reassured me, "Oh, dear, it's _Emmett_-proof! That boy leaves a path of destruction and debris in his wake. He has to rough-house all the time, gets grease on his hands from, um, being in the garage and, well, it's never-ending, his messes."

Her voice trailed off awkwardly. She looked flustered; Emmett's messes must be epic. Especially if their fallout could rival my own. Alice and Carlisle grinned broadly at their family joke. And, I was in on it. Sort of.

Within moments of settling into my seat, I felt like I'd been walking through their front door without knocking for a decade or more. They asked about Charlie. Esme wanted to know if I was in contact with any of the other members of our graduating class. I told them about Ben and Angela's engagement and they told me about what they expected to be doing in London. For Esme, living in a place with so much history was heavenly. Carlisle seemed comfortable with the United Kingdom, but not as impressed by it as Esme. I got the impression that someone in his family had lived, or maybe still did live, in England. We had moved on to another subject before I got the chance to ask.

Esme asked about school in the exact same tone my mother did. Renee blew through new interests and hobbies as if they were disposable. Every subject had the potential to be thrilling so none could be overlooked. From the look of her home, Esme's interests were more stable; I took her interest to heart. "So, Bella, what are you working on for your thesis?"

_Get to the point so they don't glaze over. It's too early to kill the conversation, Bella. _"The correspondence of a poet. I found a letter from a late seventeenth-century poet to his niece quoting her poetry. His poetry is documented, though not extensively. Hers is what interests me. Probably because I can't get to much of it. You know how it is with the things that are just out of your reach…." My eyes happened on an inconvenient photo of Edward and Alice at our graduation.

I had no hope of my blush going unnoticed. I prayed its cause would.

"Of course. Like a word you can almost remember." Carlisle came to my rescue. I couldn't imagine him reaching for a word. The closest I'd seen him to speechless was when I told him how lucky I'd been that Edward was standing right beside me when Tyler's van came for me. _That _wasn't because he'd misplaced the keys to his vocabulary.

"That's fascinating! Would we have heard of them?" Esme seemed enthralled by my research and Carlisle beamed at her enthusiasm. With such a willing audience, how could a girl say no?

"Probably not, that's why I'm so, I don't know how to describe it, _obsessed _with the idea of finding her work, even if it is in someone else's hand. The uncle is Sir William Copeland. His niece is Sophia. Sophie."

Absently, Carlisle said, "Her name means 'knowledge'." His eyes flickered to Alice. Her smile, open and guileless, translated to faintly wicked. I felt as if I were missing more subtext.

His interest in our conversation had faded in and out as if he were distracted. Considering their big move, it seemed warranted and I felt briefly as if I'd interrupted their evening. _They were probably being polite with the invitation, I should have declined._

And, then just as quickly, he was smiling at me. My remorse was forgotten, along with any fleeting desire to remove myself.

_What had I been about to say? _

I recovered with the vague impression that he was, once again, holding something back from the conversation, something he pondered while we were talking. I wondered briefly if I could get away with equally shoddy attempts at deception if my face were more beguiling.

I remembered my thought and added, "I used that in an essay about the one partial poem of hers that I have. I should have you in my study group! It took me hours to happen on that connection. If you'd read any of her letters, you'd know how apt the name is. For someone who lived in such an unscientific era, she was very attuned to rational explanations. She reasoned her way through everything."

Esme continued with her questions. "She must have been a very interesting girl, what a shame that you're separated by such an ocean of time. I think it's lovely that you're doing this, Bella. What have you found so far?"

"Sadly, not much. His family's estate has been generous about allowing me access to his correspondence, but I've only found one letter in her hand."

"But, you _did_ find a letter?" Carlisle seemed interested now, as well as Esme. As I looked around, I began to notice the patina of age on many items in their home. I chalked it up to an interest in history.

"Just one. A single poem is in it…well a passage from one, it doesn't read as if it's complete and his comments lead me to believe he's just quoting the particular portion he wished to talk more about. Typical for metaphysical poetry in some ways, entirely on its own in others. Vivid, sweeping imagery, but surprisingly intimate in tone. I can't help but wonder about her subject. I think…I _think_ that now I sound like a pathetic bookworm who doesn't see the light of day often enough." With three sets of eyes taking me in so thoroughly, I suddenly felt very self-conscious.

Carlisle surprised me by saying, "I adore English poetry, Bella. Ages ago, it helped me win over a lovely young woman. This would be the last residence in London to label you as a 'bookworm', or anything like it. I've met some pedantic bibliophiles here." He chuckled at himself before he continued, directing his comment at Alice as much as me, for confirmation I assumed, "In fact, I believe Edward is researching something similar. He will be pleasantly surprised to find out that your paths will cross so much." Esme smiled at him through her fringe of dark lashes in such a way that would have caused me to blush at its implied intimacy…had Carlisle's statement not already caused the blood to drain from my face.

The same comment that gave Esme's face such a warm smile caused cold fear to grip my heart like a vice. Was there still not a corner of this planet safe from him? He would plague me forever. At least the Cullens had given me fair warning.

Dream Edward was back with a vengeance that night.

I drank two cups of Earl Grey before walking to class the next morning, one at breakfast and one I carried to class, breathing in the steam rising from the cup the entire way. What a fool for pain I'd become, practically a junkie. Dead, melodramatic poets were making me neurotic. At least, I blamed them for it.

The Doomsday clock ticked away in my head, marking off each footfall as I walked to class. My very own death march, with a soundtrack and everything. Even with my iPod in my ears, I could hear the Imperial March over it. The Dark Side was coming for me.

Not having any classes with _him_ would be fortunate. Not seeing him any would be impossible. Running into him was an inevitability. I knew every Literature grad student by name and where they camped out in the library. I even knew who snuck snacks in (we were friendly) and who left every couple of hours for a cigarette. We would meet, the question was when. I was as prepared as I could be, which was to say, not at all.

As it turned out, I saw him walking towards me from the corner of my eye and scooted into the room for my first lecture, hoping he hadn't noticed me.

No such luck.

In my haste to avoid him, my shoulder had an unfortunate encounter with the doorjamb. It felt like I'd been body checked in a hockey game, or at least how I thought that would feel.

Before I could even imagine him saving me, just like old times, a jacketed arm slipped beneath mine and caught me around the middle. I hadn't even rebounded off the doorway yet. Another hand stabilized the travel mug I had been clutching to my chest like a rosary. My eyes were squeezed shut, I'd already braced for impact with the ground, and I shut them tighter.

In my disbelief, I still waited on the door to swing back towards me. Maybe I had dreamed it. I'd open my eyes and be in my tiny bed. My greedy subconscious perked up, her interest piqued at the mention of a bed with him in the vicinity.

Alone…I'd be _alone_ in my tiny bed.

The low, silky laugh in my ear did nothing to dispel my illusion. How many times had it been the soundtrack of one of my nighttime stalk-a-thons? My face reddened, a sure sign I was awake. I never subjected myself to anything that would make me blush in my dreams.

My feet found purchase and I righted my upper body. _You can do this, Bella, you are a grown woman._

I hadn't even turned to face him when he murmured in my ear, "I have so missed the excitement of seeing you each day, Miss Swan."

I whipped my head around then, too quickly for safety. My retort was lost in a dizzy blur. The haze of bergamot, vanilla and the leather of his jacket did nothing to help me reorient myself. Already, he was speaking again. "It is still 'Miss' Swan, yes?"

I found my voice, however weak, and replied icily, "Yes. Although, I don't think you've ever called me that, Mr. Cullen. Assuming you speak to me at all…will we be speaking this go-round?"

He blessed me with a genuine, if crooked, smile -- the kind he'd reserved in the past for his siblings. I had mixed feelings about having been denied such a dazzling vision before this. It was beautiful, obviously. For that reason, I was more than a little disappointed at not having been on the receiving end before having run into him. But, in the negatives column, I couldn't be bothered to breathe when he looked at me like that. I didn't really care if I took in oxygen and so it faded into the background with worries like matching socks and flossing -- important at certain times, now not being that moment. His lopsided smile was a safety hazard, something that should have government regulations and a black box warning attached. No lecture hall, no students, no professors existed. He wordlessly convinced me that nothing else existed in the universe but him and me. What could he talk me into if he really wanted? _A kidney? I do have a spare…._

He made certain my books were in my arms and eased his away from me. Cold air rushed in to fill the space his upper body occupied and I felt lightheaded. I sucked in a breath and couldn't decide if I smelled Edward Cullen or Earl Grey.

I gave myself the only kudos I would deserve the rest of the morning -- I hadn't so much as thought the name 'Edward' until that moment. As long as he wasn't present, I would be just fine.

Without so much as another chuckle, he slid into a chair. He couldn't know it was behind my usual seat, but I wasn't giving him the satisfaction of finding out later that he'd displaced me. I plopped down right in front of him. He made an awkward noise, like air escaping a newly-opened can of tennis balls, and I couldn't decide if it sounded more like he'd been struck in the back or only partially-successful in fighting back a snarl. As long as it was an audible manifestation of discomfort on his part, I wouldn't quibble about the details.

The seminar on Donne was scheduled to begin in two minutes. For an unrealistically long ninety seconds, I arranged my notebook and took extended gulps of my tea. I felt like a spotlight was trained on me the whole time. At about the eighty-second mark, my self-consciousness began to fade. As the professor walked in, Edward decided to lean forward and whisper, "I never said I didn't _want_ to speak to you."

I shivered, but tried to pretend like I hadn't. Having my audience at my back should have helped. It didn't. "Since no one but you was enforcing the policy, _Mister_ Cullen, you didn't have to," I shot back over my shoulder.

His first name had yet to cross my lips. I found that I liked the formality of using a title before his name. I _liked_ not being on a first-name-basis, it fit our relationship better. Another boundary, something to make me feel more secure. He might be 'Mr. Cullen' for the rest of our acquaintance.

"What if I said I've changed my mind?"

Why not? He could say whatever he damned well pleased. I was under no obligation to reciprocate. I was also under no illusion that I could pretend to ignore him for too long, he was too…engaging.

I so wanted to reciprocate. Oh, the ways I wanted to reciprocate…and, surprisingly, not all of them were kind.

If his attention could be directed somewhere else, quickly, he might never realize exactly how much of my attention he had. Maybe he'd get bored when I wasn't a toy worth playing with and would move on. However painful my being the subject of Edward's games was, watching someone else be subjected to them might be entertaining.

Maybe I could interest him in tormenting the adorable French girl whose English was spotty only when it worked to her benefit. They deserved one another.

I couldn't hold back my wicked grin at the thought and I was glad he was behind me rather than beside me, unable to see it. I would hate for him to have the satisfaction of thinking I smiled at the thought of him talking to _me_.

"Woman's Constancy" began our discussion. The seminar went steadily downhill for the next hour and a half.

* * *

Your patience was rewarded, loves. Edward has returned.

Please come play with us on the Twilighted thread -- under A/U. I post teasers and someone will almost certainly be misbehaving.

Danni, thank you for not letting me embarrass myself.

Hit review and tell me how I'm doing -- I take direction pretty well.


	4. Chapter Three

_**Disclaimer**: The Twilight Saga and its characters belong to Stephenie Meyer. _

* * *

My initial discomfort at sitting through class with Edward in such immediate physical proximity waned slowly as the discussion carried on around us. The fact that the words being spoken were about the fickle nature of male-female relationships, however ironically intended, did nothing to speed the process along. I languished in my unrest and couldn't wait for dismissal. He'd always been so quick to exit class in high school.

The hope that such a tendency remained was rewarded when he swept from behind me and to the door in a quick, fluid motion. His graceful form in motion held my attention for a beat or two longer than it should have. My mental self-lecturing was still in process when I exited the warm lecture hall and stepped into the cold.

And almost into the rock-solid source of my need for self-discipline.

"I feel as if we've gotten ourselves off on the wrong foot. Again." He paused and considered my face. My contemplation of his features was immediate and never faltered as he spoke -- how's that for a woman's constancy? I didn't have to feign interest in what he next proposed.

With his best company-manners smile, he continued, "So, let me re-introduce myself. I am Edward Cullen." He smirked and added, "Alice's brother."

I extended a hand and played along. "I am Bella Swan. Alice's newest friend in London. Lovely to make your acquaintance." I couldn't help but smirk too, at the absurdity of the exchange.

"So, my family explained that we will be researching the same family of poets while we're here."

There went our clean slate.

"The Copelands. That's what they told me," I responded succinctly. Curt was next in the queue. I felt myself getting defensive, I just wasn't quite certain of what. He could rile me better than any person I knew. _Play nice and share your toys, Bella_.

"Maybe we could help one another out, even if it were just to bounce theories off one another. So little is published about the Copelands…I would be grateful for another set of thoughts. What do you think?" I didn't know what I thought but I also didn't know how to be anything aside from polite.

"We will be in the same place at the same time a lot in the months to come. That's probably a good idea." I'd intended to ask for his cell number or give him mine, but suddenly thought better of it. If we were going to see so much of each other, as I'd so eagerly pointed out, we'd muddle through. I wasn't willing to embarrass myself so soon. I didn't ask.

He didn't either, really.

He just held out his hand for my phone and put his forward as if it were the logical progression of things. Which it was, until I got skittish and weird. "Let me type my number into your cell."

Now not offering my number seemed bad form, so I traded without fuss.

Well, initially we traded, but I would've needed an hour-long tutorial to figure out his touch screen phone. He set it up and then let me put the numbers in. At no point did he even laugh that perfect laugh at me.

I couldn't remember quite how it occurred, but I somehow walked with him past the library where I intended to go and towards the edge of campus. He had my books, he'd taken them while I fumbled with his phone, and was chatting away. I didn't want to cut him off -- he _was _talking about Sophie and William -- so I thought I'd just walk with him and go back to the library when we were done. Before I noticed the shift in dynamic, I was contributing just as eagerly to our discussion about the Copelands.

Unseeingly, I'd walked five blocks. We were standing in front of my flat.

I was confused. He didn't know where I lived. I thought I'd been following him and now we were standing at my front gate.

Did he have a flat in town instead of staying full-time in his parents' home? Alice showed me "his" room on the tour of the house.

_I didn't understand._

My incoherence coupled with what was probably the blankest expression he'd ever seen are probably what caused his face to rumple into an unspoken question. Had _I_ brought him here without thinking? Had he meant to leave me at the campus before he walked to his little flat? What were we doing?

Trying not to give away the source of my discomfort too easily, I asked neutrally, "Do you have an apartment closer to the campus than your parents' home?"

He didn't understand my confusion, that was apparent from his answer, but he looked as if it were dawning. I had but a few moments to decide which way to take things.

Could I get away with just walking towards some nearby establishment for coffee? Knowing of any nearby cafes or restaurants would be a nice start. Not having ventured out of my dark little mole hole for more than books or groceries, I was ill-equipped to play that tune by ear. A surreptitious glance gave me no places that would fit the bill.

Six months in London and I didn't know where to get a decent cup of Earl Grey? Because they expected the photographic evidence, I e-mailed my parents pictures I took on one of those cheesy red bus tours past the major sites. Big Ben now graced Charlie's fridge.

I hadn't even purchased a single item of clothing from a London boutique or driven a car on the wrong side of the road.

Sophie emboldened me to cross an ocean and now I could barely get myself to cross the road.

_Outdone by chickens -- that _is _mortifying, Miss Swan._

Warmth creeping across my cheeks and the bridge of my nose alerted me to the fact that my face was progressing nicely from the pink flush of walking on to the fiery red of sharp embarrassment.

How could I have led him here? Now it just looked like I wanted him -- alone -- in my apartment. The reasons wouldn't even matter if he thought those were the facts.

My napping subconscious bolted upright, furiously scribbling plot bunnies for tonight's late show.

He sounded faintly uncertain of why I asked but answered gamely. "No. My schedule overlaps with Alice's three days a week, so driving isn't a big deal. We only had to get a permit for one spot."

Bella the Seductress seemed an unlikely role for me but he hadn't seen me in years -- he had no way of knowing.

To keep him from thinking I hoped he might be interested in some one-on-one time in my flat, I decided honesty was the best policy. The words didn't exactly flow, falling out of my mouth at odd angles and on top of one another. My obvious discomfort probably made the case for my lack of design for me, a thought among others that didn't occur to me until long after the exchange came and went. "I mean, I…I planned on heading right to the library today. I usually come home for lunch, but I brought something to eat and planned on walking there. Somehow, we ended up here and I was hoping it was for you. Autopilot, I guess. I'm sorry I brought you all the way here for nothing."

In an instant a kaleidoscope of expressions crossed his face too quickly for me to catch all of them. Irritation lingered a nanosecond longer than the others. He smiled -- just warmly enough to make me hope he wasn't too irritated with me. "Nothing about this walk has inconvenienced me. I must have talked you to sleep and you were sleepwalking the whole way." He turned gallantly back towards the University, sweeping his arm in front of him as if to indicate that he would be following my lead. "Shall we?"

What was he aggravated by if not me?

I wouldn't have known how to decline an invitation so gracious had I been so inclined. More than any time in my early morning hazes, I wanted at that moment to kiss him square on the lips or wrap both arms around his shoulders in thankfulness.

Shutting up seemed more appropriate. As a result, we walked silently for a block or so and I began to overanalyze the series of events that led us to my front door. Had my leading him there been a manifestation of my desire to have him there in the first place? Already, I put him in my bedroom without his consent with some regularity.

The thing was, I didn't want him there. Did I? I wanted the specter of my dark dreams -- the sweet, tragic figure who kept my nights free of the evil that used to lurk there. The fact that some unruly part of my brain chose to assign Edward Cullen's captivating face and dexterous hands and fire-tinged hair and hypnotic voice to my nighttime dragon-slayer did not mean that he was someone with whom I should involve myself.

My breathing was shallow and I felt giddy. A few slow breaths later, my head was back on a tad straighter. The fog in my head began to clear and my thinking with it.

As enigmatic guardian of my dreams he could continue, more than that was too risky.

I took in another slow breath.

Silently, he took the messenger bag that held my laptop and shifted our books to his other arm.

He spoke before I could object. "Alice said you had dinner with the family last night."

My breathing and heart rate found their own steady rhythm so that I didn't have to meter them consciously. "Yes. It was lovely. Everyone had already finished by the time Alice and I wrapped it up at the library -- she's so _energetic _-- and so they warmed a plate for the two of us. I bored them so much talking about my thesis that I think Alice all but forgot about hers."

When I looked up, his gaze almost undid all that effort to even out my breathing. If I couldn't see them all around me, going about their errands, rushing to class, lumbering overburdened towards the campus library, I would've been easily convinced that not another soul existed on the planet.

I lowered my lashes enough to break the eye contact, and his spell, so that I could speak again. "As a matter of fact, my lunch is something Esme packed for me. She joked that the five of you never let her pack your lunches, and she was excited to have someone to make lunch for. She even put a tiny boxed drink in there. And some chocolate. Mmm, yummy."

Miraculously, more words tumbled out of my mouth. "You're very fortunate. I miss my mother. Not that I want Renee _here, _definitely not…I just miss seeing her regularly. And, being around your family, even just this little bit, has helped with my homesickness. So, um, thanks."

My mother? I was talking to him about my mother? He just moved across an ocean and I was already going to bring his attention to how easy it was to get homesick.

Edward smiled faintly. "I am very, very fortunate for Carlisle and Esme. She'll be ecstatic to know our family has helped you feel more at home. Nothing makes her happier than catering to the five of us, expanding the boundaries of her brood will make her so happy. I'm just afraid you don't quite understand what you've signed up for, Bella." He chuckled.

Every corner of their home seemed orderly in the extreme. The thought was…overwhelming.

Edward's chuckle expanded and grew as he examined my face. "I see the implications are starting to settle in. I promise, she is not a lion-tamer even though, by all appearances, she should have to be for her home and life to be so pristine. She can work her magic and not cause so much as a ripple. That's the truly impressive part."

Today, it seemed, we were old friends. I couldn't even pretend that I didn't enjoy it.

The next week, my days settled into a predictable, if tentative rhythm. After a few false starts with him, and much conscious effort on my part, I convinced myself that in the middle of working on my master's thesis was not the appropriate venue for hashing out my adolescent issues with Mr. Cullen. Our paths crossed frequently in seminars and the library. We spoke regularly, though not often at length, maintaining a friendlier coexistence than I'd have thought possible after our first meeting.

My sources at the school had been a jumping-off point and I decided I needed to make friends in the manuscript room of the British Library. Edward was well-entrenched the afternoon I arrived and offered, since I'd been "so kind as to help Alice get familiar with the campus", to return the favor.

If I could but convince my subconscious of the strictly friendly nature of my feelings for him, my life would be a golden haze of self-denial that I could wander for the remainder of my time in London. As if that were a possibility.

He continued a steadfast visitor of my dreams, and I continued to spend the first few moments of each day reveling in those imaginary exchanges, nursing my Traitor Grey. Twice that week, we walked in at the same time, a quarter past eight, and I had to bite my tongue to keep from asking him if he was tired from his nocturnal excursions.

It was a silly derivative of an awful pick-up line, but it served its purpose. I smiled at him genuinely both mornings. He didn't have to know about my very inside joke.

Indulging in something caffeinated after leaving the house in the mornings was a tricky business, anything remotely resembling my morning tea was off limits. I stuck to Irish Breakfast and, if I really needed a swift kick, chai. Coffee was a last resort, since I was so easily cranked up by caffeine.

The idea of isolating the time I spent wrapped in the heated perfume of my nighttime fantasies came from a diet I saw advertised on the front of a tabloid. Instead of pretending that cravings -- _food_ cravings -- didn't exist, it suggested rationing yourself a small portion of your favorite indulgence so you didn't give in and binge when you were weak.

I pretended the advice couldn't possibly apply to me; I didn't need to restrict anything. What was I avoiding?

But, the garish ad kept appearing in my mind until I gave in and admitted my weakness.

Were I honest in my self-deceit, I'd have just owned up to scheming against myself. I convinced myself it would be a way of turning my strength into a weakness, rhetoric from an article in a women's magazine about emotional empowerment.

What I really wanted to do was take some action to nip the Edward problem in the bud. I needed to, as Jake would say, do something, even if it was wrong.

The decision was so simple before he arrived. Millions of people occupy the same metropolitan area without ever interacting. Why couldn't we be among those millions? I didn't even need six degrees of separation, I could make do with two.

My resolve melted in his presence.

Denial and I were getting so chummy, I played coy and made my two inner selves battle it out.

I would get my morning hit of Dream Edward, a creature who didn't even exist in the real world, and then move on with my day without being so susceptible to the mind games of the real Edward Cullen. The boundaries I constructed were protective only in my imagination, the security blanket of an emotional toddler.

My collision with Edward had caused a double-edged side-effect. It brought me to the attention of other students. They were friendly…but they asked me questions.

Many of them hadn't even connected me to the semi-permanent library-dweller behind the curtain of dark hair before I made a spectacle of myself. Now that they attached me to a few seminars, and realized I certainly wasn't an undergrad, they spoke to me regularly. We chatted about their thesis proposals, their homes, their other seminars.

I didn't consciously decide to not mention my thesis to them, but I found myself being vague when I talked about it. My own motivation evaded me, I chalked it up to my runaway imagination. Even more annoying was the fact that I hadn't noticed my reticence _to_ ponder it until Edward brought it to my attention.

After one such exchange occurred in the library with another student, Edward quipped lightly, "Should I be as cagey about _my_ research, or do you not care if anyone knows our topics are so similar?"

Predictably, I played the defense. "I'm certain I don't know where you're headed with this -- but I'm not being cagey. You can talk about what you want; no one here cares what we're doing." His only purpose in coming to the library could be to torment me, he never read the things he picked up. Active torment must be more interesting for the cheeky, bored bastard than ignoring me. I was single-handedly curing modern ennui.

"So, it wouldn't bother you if I walked up to, say, Vivienne or Andrew, and told one of them about your virtually unknown poet -- well, poet, of a sort -- and how the two of us are finding out about her life and that of her uncle? That we're about to write a history that is almost completely unexplored? Possibly even write the first criticisms of some of this work? You might be sitting on an academic goldmine and none of that gives you a moment's pause?"

Ha!, the pouty French girl -- they _had _met. She probably wouldn't get it, she'd need hours of explanation from him, but she would certainly want in on whatever, umm, _intrigued_ Edward.

Andrew wanted to get coffee later, maybe I'd tell him myself. _So, there, Mr. Cullen. _

Even in my own mind, the threat had no teeth. The trick was this: I didn't _want _to tell. I especially didn't want someone who knew Edward to know.

It was ours. The one thing in the world that we had in common and I held it fast, close to the chest, afraid I might get pushed out of this circle of tense camaraderie we'd negotiated.

Vivienne could ply him with her unique brand of sullen coquetry on her own dime. This was mine. Ours.

Stubbornly, I carried my bluff though I knew better. "I don't care if you do tell them, I have a written agreement with the source of my letters. If someone can find something else, I have more than I can handle, so pushing them out would just be greedy on my part. I mean, I _like_ going about my business without an audience -- I'm sure that's not really news to you -- but I hadn't decided _not_ to tell people why I'm here. They'd probably think I was wasting my time.

"You're here and, against my better judgment, I haven't been unwelcoming to you…." What sounded wryly magnanimous running through my head sounded vaguely akin to "nanny nanny boo boo" when I said it aloud. His calm irritated me to no end and brought forth my worst traits.

Edward did a poor job of concealing a grin as he considered my words.

"I'll let that last part slide, ma'am. You're pulling me away from my original point."

When he trained his serious gaze upon me, it dawned on me that my sarcasm hadn't thrown him. Whatever he was getting at remained on his mind.

I swatted an inconvenient memory -- something about _his_ efforts at misdirection?

"Sophie and William aren't the _entire_ reason you're here, right? You would have come here for another subject, maybe something _else_ under the auspices of the esteemed British Lit professors?"

He asked his question earnestly, even if he had laced it with some sarcasm for my discerning palate, but I couldn't see how it made a difference. _Why_ did it matter to him? And, yet, even though I didn't quite get his motivation, I couldn't stop myself from answering with an intensity that matched his own. "No, I wouldn't have come _here_ for anything else, though it's a lovely school. If I could do what I'm doing in Forks or Seattle or Phoenix, I would have. But, the decision was made the moment I wrote an essay on William a year ago. I'm going to have to do the detective work, get a little dirty, if this is going to happen for me. And, I'm so overcome by the two Copelands that I'm more than willing. _Something _is there, something beyond the poetry, beyond a man who loved his niece enough to see her as more than a wife- or mother-in-training. I know there's more, I can feel it.

"I want to know what she became."

My words seemed to shimmer in the air between us, begging for a reply from him.

I hadn't even said that to myself yet and here I was spilling all my wants to him. Why did I feel the need to answer his every challenge, to validate his concerns?

I couldn't seem to master the sublime indifference he'd perfected. He should be an expert, he'd been practicing as long as I'd known him. He could even turn it on and off at will.

A tiny, troublesome notch marred his perfect brow and he took a drawn-out breath.

I should have gone with "no".

Something about my verbose answer didn't sit well with him -- not that revealing so much pleased me -- and I frantically went over my explanation, trying to puzzle out his irritation in my head.

_He_ asked. I couldn't help it if he didn't like what he heard.

Mortals don't get to doctor reality, hadn't Comparative Literature taught him anything? Unless, of course, he belonged in the pantheon. A god among men -- I didn't know why the comparison hadn't occurred to me before! It _would _explain the face, the exquisitely sculptured form.

And his hubris wouldn't quite be, well, _hubris_ if he were one of Zeus' children….

Maybe I could coax the reason for his displeasure out of him. Later. If I still thought it mattered by then, which it probably wouldn't. Why should I even care?

_Rambling _internally_? So sad, Bella._

His placid smile returned to its assigned position almost as if it hadn't ever strayed. "What are your theories, Miss Swan, about what became of our Sophie?"

His use of the word _our_ was momentarily distracting. Our Sophie, our thesis, our theories. Our…anything. Just about any word randomly chosen from a thesaurus would have worked. I could start at the beginning: _our aardvark_. _Our abacus_. _Our activities._

I had to back my gutter-minded subconscious into the corner. _Not _those_ activities._

An insulting veneer of indulgence thinly disguised his mounting impatience. Struggling, I resumed my position as engineer of this train of thought. "I don't have any, yet, nothing I can put words to, just a feeling, intuition…the two of them seem to be co-conspirators and I can't put my finger on the desired end. Every time I read his letters, I get this sense that they existed in a bubble, for lack of a better word, that most of their circle didn't know about. I'm probably reading more into the text than is there. I don't know…."

He leaned in conspiratorially and, instinctually, so did I. "So, a secret, is it?" His crooked grin seemed even more wry than usual.

Clearly, our takes on the subject were very different and I felt mortified and leaned back in my seat. Afraid he might be mocking me, I deflected. "I guess so. What do you think? You have yet to grace me with your theories, I've done all the talking."

Innocently, too innocently for my question to have fallen short of its mark, he offered lamely, "I didn't know we were looking for a conspiracy -- I'm ill-prepared. I'm just here for the poems."

When had he ever _not _had an opinion? He was such a know-it-all.

Flush with success because I'd put him at a loss, it was my turn to smile sardonically. "Really. That's _all_? Just the poems...you'll miss so much if you stop there."

His eyes flashed with intensity before he got the mask back down.

When he didn't reply with enough haste for me, I prodded, "Their personal lives would have such an influence on their art, how can you write a criticism without some back story? You wouldn't be up for something more…exciting? A secret or two? _That_ seems like it would be right up your alley, I recall you being _very_ into secrets when we were in Forks."

He rolled his eyes. "Very funny." And then, apologetically, he added, "I was a pretty melodramatic high school kid."

Just like that our conversation took an unexpected turn.

Without cracking a smile, I deadpanned, "Oh. So glad you've outgrown all that nonsense."

He examined my face, looking for a clue as to my intent, but I gave nothing away for a few seconds. He deserved to squirm, and my desire to even the playing field steeled my determination. I didn't hold out long before I smiled and confessed, "I feel kind of the same way about high school. It's nice not to carry around all that angsty schoolgirl baggage. Liberating, even."

"Yes, liberating." He sounded surprisingly ambivalent about freedom, not at all unfettered.

And though we were being so civil, and it _was _pleasant, I was riding high on my successful conquest of his smug prepossession. I just couldn't leave well-enough alone. It was already in the room, why _not_ ask how the elephant was doing? "So, what's the story, then? Have you outgrown your superpowers?"

His crooked smile bowled me over and I had to concentrate mightily on breathing in and out. It was well established that he'd retained at least that one superpower.

"Wow, you're really on a roll, aren't you? Um, yes, I think I have outgrown my superpowers. Carlisle had me enrolled in a medical trial -- I should have just come clean, it would have been much simpler."

My radioactive spider theory wasn't as far off as I'd imagined. Assuming he was being honest, which I didn't believe for a second.

He continued, "And now that we're on the subject of secret lives, what about you?"

"What _about _me?" _The nerve_. I didn't have a rocking social life by any stretch of the imagination, but I wasn't hiding a double life from the world either. It was a poor tactic to take the heat off himself.

He indicated the others around us with a nod of his head. "Are you avoiding all these people for some reason, or are you really that shy? What is it that you don't want them to know about you?"

_Oh._

My reply came out too quickly. The first part sounded rehearsed, even to me. "I'm pretty much an open book. I'm not flashing the cover for any of them, but I'm definitely not hiding." In evidence of my social awkwardness, I blushed instantly at the word _flashing_.

As if he were taking my order at the corner pub, he asked, "And you'd be fine with them knowing about our history?"

"More like 'lack thereof', so I think I'm safe," I replied, equally dispassionate.

Repentantly he sighed, "Ah. So, our past interaction _is _weighed in the balance and found lacking. I hate to remember it that way, Bella."

I sucked in a short breath at the sound of my name, my given name, barely more than a whisper on his lips. I'd never heard that sound in my waking hours and it lived up to every juicy possibility. At least my cheeks were already rosy. If this conversation went any further off track, I would wear a single, continuous blush until we parted ways.

I'd been doing so much better at staying disconnected, even sarcastic at times, and now I was so _entangled_ again. A mere misstep from trapped.

I pictured myself in a giant spider-web, Edward stalking towards me, his venomous mouth closing in on my neck.

Even more disheartening, I was having to convince myself that being entangled with him was something I didn't look forward to.

I needed some boundaries. Yesterday.

My new old standby would do. "How else would one remember it, Mr. Cullen? You give it even more weight than it deserves by simply mentioning it."

A nervous habit, an awkward and staccato laugh burst out of my throat in fits and starts. He unnerved me when he became so intensely occupied with what I said and I gulped audibly under his steady, and strangely displeased, gaze.

He took issue with everything I said. Who had the energy to dissect another person's words so thoroughly? _You do. And you're writing a thesis on that presumption._

I added quickly, "It was nothing, really. You ignored me, and that's a serious amount of nothing if such a thing were physically possible. No need to dwell on the uninteresting ancient history of Forks High students. No one will write sweeping novels on that subject, I'm sure."

His tiny notch had grown noticeably over the course of my ramblings, so that the inside edges of his eyebrows were almost touching. "So, am I to understand, then, that you are _okay_ with what happened in Forks? Okay with everyone here knowing about it?"

He lowered his voice, forcing me to pay closer attention to him -- as if that were even possible.

"It wouldn't be awkward if they all knew that we went to the same high school, not speaking for almost a year, or that we're still struggling with how all this newly-discovered common interest is even possible given our history?" He leaned in very close again. My face found its way to the position it had occupied earlier. It was now mere inches from his.

My lips quivered, the ghost of the words they meant to speak trembling across them. An exhalation took the place of my answer.

I struggled with a reply for half a minute. Why would he ask a question he had to know the answer to? Why force me to say aloud how much his indifference hurt? "I wouldn't say that I'm _okay_ with it, but I'm trying very hard to think of it as water under the bridge."

Why did I keep sharing things I would later only regret him hearing?

I never got to enjoy any sinning when it came to Edward, I only received the aching discomfort of repenting at my leisure. No end appeared anywhere on the horizon.

He must have moved past his irritation with me because there was now only untroubled skin where the notch had been. My thumb itched to skim over it. His lowered voice, now that I had a moment to really immerse myself in it, sounded more like the contented lapping of the ocean against the sand on a cloudless day. Soothing, lulling me into a state of false-security so I'd spill my guts whenever it fit his nefarious purpose, no doubt.

"What I'm getting at, and I'm not doing a very good job of it, is that _I _am notokay with it. I'm ashamed, really. And, if it's okay with you, I'd rather it not be mentioned. Ever. I feel that I, to paraphrase one of Austen's characters, left the impression I liked you against my will, reason and character, when that is definitely not the case. I was young and I made an incredible ass of myself, utterly reprehensible of me. I think more of you than my conduct conveyed and I wouldn't want anyone to get the impression that I might condone them showing anything less than the utmost respect for you. If I saw anyone else treat you that way…." He ran his hand through his hair as his voice trailed off as his head lowered. I couldn't for the life of me think of anything he could have said that would have been less nefarious. Or more shocking.

His eyes bored into mine. "So, could you be prevailed upon to keep another _secret_ for me?" A familiar wash of sweetness clouded my senses. And my judgment. I had to remind myself that he was waiting on my reply.

"All you had to do was ask, Edward," I whispered. I had to file away his diatribe for consideration at some future moment. Preferably, a quiet moment in a dark room. Alone.

For the present, I found myself unable to breathe, watching his mouth closely.

"I'm not comfortable asking for more favors, especially in light of the whole reason I even have to ask. Thank you very much for being so generous with your pardon."

I suddenly realized how many people were watching us. None of them were in earshot, and they'd have to have us miked to hear our hushed voices anyway, but I felt certain that the intensity of the moment gave away more than the dialogue could have.

I tore my gaze away quickly and my cheeks flamed back up.

When I looked back up, Edward's eyes had darkened. Another memory from Biology popped up, uninvited and certainly unwelcome. "I can't identify with Darcy's inability to converse with others, but I am absolutely unable to converse intelligibly with you. I talk myself into ridiculous knots." He added quickly, "My own inadequacy, not yours."

I could certainly relate to that.

Slowly, he righted himself in his chair; I was still reeling.

"When are we expected at the Copeland's?"

Thankful for his ability to remain plugged in to reality, I inhaled one last time and replied, "In about half an hour."

"Let me help you put these away, then." In a moment, he had reorganized our merging piles and put much of it back where it belonged. He carried my bag to his car and we were off.

I'd tried -- since the moment I extended the invitation -- to prepare myself for the reality of Edward in the this room that I'd become so possessive over. Each unsuccessful attempt ended with me being waylaid, fantasizing about my Dream Edward conquering the mysteries of the past with me.

I belted myself in his passenger seat and wondered how I would deal with our first afternoon ensconced in the library of my dreams like flies in amber. Taking in a deep breath of air he'd tainted, I realized that I was not off to a roaring start.

What had I done to myself?

**London, 1688**

Following my dismissal from Sophie's library, she removed herself from London for a few weeks, a detail relayed to me by her uncle, William. Not a soul hinted that her departure was either for my benefit or torture. Since she would not burden me with the details surrounding her sudden departure, she left me to assume that she took no one else into her confidence. Or, so I hoped.

I reminded myself at frequent intervals that her trip to Paris could have been purely for her own pleasure. Her every whim didn't have to be based on my existence. Her acquaintances there could have requested her company and, feeling that such a diversion would be conveniently timed, she might have accepted the invitation.

In her absence, our weekly salons were relocated to my library. Her uncle was in attendance at these, along with all those regularly in attendance. Their continued presence reassured me that she'd not spoken of our exchange before she left.

Without her in my library, the gatherings were a polite interchange of ideas. We heard charming melodies on my pianoforte -- even one composition in progress -- and discussed not a little poetry. My interest in politics made those conversations something I tolerated rather than enjoyed. On the whole, however, our evenings hit no sour notes. Not one. They were even-keeled interchanges between like minds.

In short, they were Purgatory without Sophie.

No one challenged my responses. Not a soul noticed that my hands were scarcely warmer than the arm of a dining chair. None of them asked if I thought the warmth of the sun's rays made it worth braving the icy air.

I thought I'd slipped into an in-between place, a void inhabited by only inconspicuous nonentities.

Two weeks after Sophie's departure, I received a letter from William that disabused me of such a notion. Was I too late to negotiate my return to Purgatory? Did I even want to go back?

_

* * *

_

_**A/N **_Thank you for the lovely reviews I have received thus far. On the weekends, I try to post a teaser. I'm just getting a rhythm; my apologies in advance for any miscues.

Danni, thank you for making me reconsider the Brontes and I hope I can convince you to love T.S. eternally. You make me a better writer every time you you break up a monolithic paragraph or ask me where I'm going.


	5. Chapter Four

**Disclaimer**: The Twilight Saga and its characters belong to Stephenie Meyer

* * *

**London, 1688**

A poet himself, William Copeland encouraged his only niece to write. I could hear him so clearly telling her at one of our salons, "It's lovely that a subject would ignite a passionate response. But, really, of what use is a sentiment if it is kept to yourself? Write it out, my darling!

"An essay _would_ be a fine thing -- forthright, well-argued, just like you. Ah!, but verses are finer…."

She had taken up his proposition with resounding success, he felt, and wished to share it with me in her absence. He missed her at our gatherings, it was easy to see. Her letter cheered him immensely.

Though he feared she had been jilted, maybe on this trip to Paris, dealing with her crushed expectations with a pen brought him a pleasure I thought indecorous given her supposed inspiration.

I read the enclosed verses in disbelief.

-

_By what bewitching spell could a gesture_

_from his icy alabaster form so_

_ignite my galloping tepid lump of clay?_

_And, how, in such heated congress did not _

_his own stony figure eternally _

_tensed, expectantly poised, warm to the day ?_

_Golden, honeyed light at his arrival shone_

_Dusky midnight heralded his exit._

_Leaving, taking cold over hearth and home_

_Incense lingered in his wake._

_-_

She had missed nothing.

She never missed an important detail. My mistake had been the assumption that she would deem me minutiae, a creature better overlooked than examined, and she'd done no such thing. My attempts at blending were an utter failure.

"Golden" on my arrival and "dusky" when I departed? "Eternally tensed"? "Icy alabaster form"?

If anyone knew my secret -- the Volturi, for instance -- they'd assume I wasn't even trying to keep it as such.

My theory had been that humans notice things that beg for their attention, so I'd gone about my business quietly, if assuredly. If I asserted a point with confidence, they never questioned me. And, of course, I could aid their acquiescence with a few moments of eye contact at close range. The resulting burn in my throat was a minor irritation compared to alternative consequences.

She noticed that the darkening of my eyes happened _before_ I left, a "herald". That realization was a hairsbreadth from knowing that it signaled the reason for my departure. Or, worse, what that reason was.

It had only happened a few times, becoming overwhelmed by thirst and bolting from a room unceremoniously. The first time she visited my library was one of them. A deer in the nearby forest had been sacrificed in her stead that evening and my absence had gone unnoticed. Resurfacing from my cellar with a new bottle of wine seemed a perfect cover in my mind.

Clearly, I'd been mistaken.

My first instinct on reading her letter and the poem enclosed was to run, leaving posthaste and without explanation. I'd leave more than incense in my wake if I did, I feared, so I'd have to wait it out. The prospect of facing a bright young woman frightened this monster. Having someone to share this existence with was an intoxicating prospect, liberating even, but still I cowered in horror as I awaited Sophie's return.

* * *

**London, 2009**

Edward drove like a maniac.

The streets, as they always are in London, were crowded. He treated traffic like a minor detail, slaloming between moving vehicles. He'd move on before they even had the chance to honk and I felt like I was a stunt double in the requisite chase scene from an action blockbuster.

Just when I thought my hands would eat into the leather of his passenger's seat, he glided into a parking spot. He had at least a centimeter or two on either side to spare.

With one leg already out of the car, he held up a finger and told me, "I have to do one errand. I'll only be a moment and we'll be on our way." I didn't even notice where we were, so I was shocked when he exited the building with a drink carrier and two sandwiches.

"My extended remorse kept you from lunch. I'd hate to have you miss it altogether. I'd just apologize all over again and then keep you from your supper as well."

With another amnesia-inducing grin, he held the bag out to me. "A peace offering, if you will."

"You don't have to do that, one apology is plenty." The notch reappeared as soon as I hinted that he shouldn't have bought lunch for us. Desperate to make it go away, I hedged a bit. "I will take it in trade for showing you my source, maybe. If you think it's decent…."

He laughed. "No, a source will get you a proper dinner, probably by Esme, if she has her way." Before I could come up with another reason to dodge his peace offering, he handed me a cup and raised his own. "To a functional working relationship."

"Not the most eloquent toast I've ever heard, but…sure." I nudged his steaming cup with my own.

"Probably not. I'm not much for that. And, your drink is really hot, be very careful. It's your usual, I think."

Indeed it was.

And, why not drink some Traitor Grey with him sitting right there? The whole car was saturated with him, it couldn't get worse, right? I cracked the lid and steam poured out. I inhaled the sweet cloud, preparing myself for a long afternoon, before I resealed it tightly.

* * *

The Copelands were expecting me to bring another student and I thought we'd have to do a round of introductions. I imagined we'd make polite conversation while they underhandedly interrogated Edward, feeling him out, deciding whether he could be trusted with historically valuable family heirlooms. At odd intervals, a head would peek in and see if we "needed anything" to make sure we were behaving with suitable reverence for the dearly departed.

Any squeamishness they might have had was understandable; I prepared myself for Day One all over again.

We pulled down the side street to their home and I was overcome by the now-familiar feeling of stepping into a world where time held less influence than place. That feeling helped me prepare myself for stepping into William's letters.

Aside from the vehicle and its occupants there were no obvious indicators of which century we inhabited. The streets were cobblestone and no cars were visible from the road. It could as easily be the eighteenth century as the twenty-first.

The housekeeper met us at the door and explained that the Lord and Lady were away for a few weeks -- an unplanned family obligation required their presence. She had been instructed to make sure we had whatever we needed while they were away.

I was _not_ pleased.

She asked politely if we required anything. She wasn't looking at me.

Edward dismissed her sweetly and she was floating towards the back of the house before she knew what hit her.

Essentially, I would be spending the rest of my research afternoons alone with Edward. A single, long afternoon with my weakness stretched before me and I was already spooked and antsy. The idea of more caused me to shudder.

* * *

The Copelands' London residence was a second home, a cozy town home with warm wood paneling, soaring ceilings and fireplaces in almost every room where they could relax when the rigors of life in town required their attendance. For that same reason, it was the kind of home that made me want to curl up in a blanket next to the fireplace and have my significant other read to me.

Their library, without those convenient heads popping in unannounced, was a minefield. Before we crossed the library's threshold, my imagination had generated enough material for a week of Edward dreams.

Why was this where my head went? Dream Edward was nothing like daytime Edward; they weren't the same being. _He_ was never short or pained at speaking to me. _He_ never baited me into getting mad like some form of sport or made infuriatingly vague statements to dismiss my good sense. _He_ made me forget that any friction ever occurred in reality.

The dreamy apparition who would read to me in a library while the world carried on around us was not the same creature currently sneaking in my lunch behind the housekeeper's back.

This Edward made the businesslike nature of our excursions ever-so-clear from the beginning, he even reinforced my positive behaviors with rewards.

On a day when I was having a particularly hard time navigating the documents room at the British Library, he'd offered: "I have a reluctant source of some letters, but they won't be available to me for six weeks. Could we arrange an equitable trade? My few Sophie letters and my help at the British Library for your William letters?"

Neither of us could afford for me to decline and, just like that, my safe zone was slashed to practically non-existent. We even shook our cotton-gloved hands on it.

The exodus of my human buffers cut down that safe zone even more.

As usual, a fire roared in the fireplace. A slice of hell under the mantle to go with my heavenly research partner.

Perfect.

* * *

He insisted that I eat while he unpacked both our bags. I wolfed down my sandwich, surprised at how hungry I was. When I looked up, he was watching me, one side of his face pulled up in an amused smirk.

"I intended to ask if you were okay with the sandwich I chose -- I would have traded with you, had you so desired -- but it seems I waited too long to extend the offer."

"I think I can make do with this one," I allowed abashedly. Try as I might, I couldn't fight laughing with him through my mouthful of turkey and pesto.

After a good hand-washing, we donned our white cotton gloves and I divvied up the letters, giving him free-reign over the ones I'd already been through.

Because I felt that he was my guest in this situation, I found myself looking up regularly to make sure he didn't need anything. My intentions were fairly pure to begin with, very host-like. His reading was…distracting.

He read each letter like an aficianado appreciating a glass of wine. More than simply reading the written words, he examined each piece of paper, ran his finger over bits of the text, held the paper up to the light. While reading, he would occasionally put the letter down and close his eyes in concentration. I'd never seen someone put so much anything into reading a letter. Maybe I had been doing this all wrong.

I was fairly certain he sniffed one letter. He closed his eyes, brought the letter up to his nose and took a breath in. Reflexively, his jaw tightened and he looked angry for a moment. With some effort, his intense expression faded to a serene mask, he swallowed thickly and opened his eyes.

They were black as pitch, darker even than at the library.

He excused himself, muttering about the loo as he rose. He was trying to make a joke, using the local term, but he didn't look like anything was amusing.

Putting the letter back before he went, he left the edge pulled out slightly. So he could pick back up where he'd left off, I guessed. His behavior confounded me, as usual.

We filled up the rest of the afternoon reading silently. The only sounds were our pens scratching notes until it was time to pack up and head home. To make working together easier, Edward had brought an acid-free documents box and placed the letters he was working on inside. The unread ones stayed in my box. My 'Out' box served as his 'In' box.

From the look of his stack, he was either extraordinarily untidy or he had an impromptu filing system going on. The odds of him doing anything less than fastidiously were slim, making the latter seem more likely. His stack reminded me of an abacus, with certain bits at different levels lining up so that you knew they had something in common. What that something was, I had no idea.

I'd have to ask him his system later. I could certainly use any help he could toss my way.

Edward was watching me when I looked up about three hours later. "How are you doing?"

I scrubbed both hands across my face and rubbed my stiff neck. "There's just so much to take in, I'm overwhelmed. My timeline is starting to fill out, though."

He looked confused by my response. "You sound disappointed by that."

"I shouldn't be, but I guess I am. This dissertation was supposed to be about more than filling in a timeline, though it will be helpful when it's done. I'm here to find out what happened to Sophie. None of these letters talk about anything beyond her years as a single woman. I'm guessing she was eighteen when William wrote this last one but there's no mention of a husband or a suitor of any sort. And he never suggests she needs one."

I halted my whining in its tracks, suddenly aware of how my words must have sounded to him. He'd certainly gotten an earful of Bella recently hadn't he? "I sound ungrateful, ignore me."

"No, you don't sound ungrateful. You've been here for months, I'm just getting here. I'd probably be frustrated by now as well."

He looked like he was about to say something and changed his mind more than once before he settled on saying, "Maybe the facts that _aren't_ there are as important as the ones that are. Doesn't it seem significant that her titled uncle had no interest in her being married? Eighteen was a Season from spinsterhood in her day."

Why hadn't that thought occurred to me? It was such an obvious omission.

"Wow. Of course. Now I'll have to pore over these again to look for subtext about why he wouldn't be pressuring her into getting married. Maybe I need a fresh perspective even more than more letters.

"Not that I'd pass up more letters…." I mustered up my slyest grin.

"I would never ask you to, the offer has already been extended…didn't you say there's a single letter from Sophie in all this mess? I haven't run across any trace of it."

"Sorry, I put it to the side and forgot. Here it is."

I handed him the envelope marked "Sophie" and flipped to my pages of notes on it in case he had any questions.

As he pulled the letter out, my eyes found the hand-copied text of the poem in it and skimmed the now-familiar words.

Sophie said the narrator -- herself, I decided -- was bewitched by the subject of her poem. I wasn't yet sure who or what that was, but I could certainly identify with feelings beyond my control magically evoked by an outside source. _Witchcraft. _If this were 1709 instead of 2009, I might have to give some consideration to that theory.

She told William that this was her first attempt at writing verse, so the awkwardness could be excused. I couldn't help but wonder what bothered this lovely girl enough to wring poetry for the first time from her decidedly logical heart? The poems quoted in later letters from William were more interesting stylistically, but they weren't whole and they weren't the starting point. This was a complete thought, something I could dissect. So, while the words themselves were not compelling, the enigma they addressed was.

This was the only letter I had hand-copied word for word. I skimmed my copy as Edward read the original, glancing up at his reactions occasionally.

I could tell when he reached the end. He pulled in a breath and held it.

A few seconds passed without a sound -- no scratching of pen to paper, no soft glide of cotton across the old letters.

Without meeting my eyes, he asked, "You've read this, yes?"

"Of course I have. I have it copied down in my notes right here." I answered his query brightly, excited by the prospect of a sounding board. The room was still, nothing had disrupted our silence, but our quiet had subtly changed flavor.

No longer was I respectfully motionless so that he could concentrate. With bated breath and a pounding heart, I was frozen as if I'd sensed an intruder in my home. Expectant, but of some nebulous malevolence.

In this tense stillness, my excited answer rang discordant in the air and reverberated for an uncomfortably long time.

He pretended not to notice the awkward pause. With the smooth exterior of newly-varnished mahogany, his voice betrayed no trace of our unspoken anxiety. "Of course. I shouldn't have bothered you by asking. What's your take on it, if you don't mind sharing?"

Wondering if I'd imagined the phantom evil, I decided to play along until my uncertainty faded to nil. "No, no. I don't mind. In fact, I'm kind of relieved to have someone to talk to about all this. I've spent hours in these rooms, holed up with the letters of people long dead. It's just nice to have a warm body, _any_ warm body, to discuss it with. I was about to resort to the housekeeper, but since you're available…."

"I'll see what I can do to accommodate."

"Such a giver."

"Your critique, Miss Swan."

"I'm at a loss. Really. This poem is my strongest argument for needing to know about her personal life to make this dissertation work.

"At first, I agreed with William's theory that she'd been jilted by someone beautiful but aloof, hence the _icy alabaster _description. And, briefly, I wondered if some physical exchange of affection occurred, some sort of scandal, but I threw that out pretty quickly. She'd never hint at that to her uncle. The heated congress must have just been words.

"The third stanza might be referring to literal dawn and the blackness of night, but I don't think so. And, the incense might just be a sweet taste the experience left in her mouth, despite its end. I'm reaching…I know I'm missing something big."

"Maybe you're not. Why couldn't it be just that simple? They met in the morning, wooed through the day, though he was ultimately unmoved by their exchange. As the sky blackened with night, he left. Her life was nearly profoundly altered, all in the course of a single turn of the earth. A near-miss in romance has moved lesser writers to churn out volumes of bad poems."

Nothing to argue against there, but his argument felt hollow, as if he were making it simply for form's sake. Why expect me to buy something he didn't himself?

Yes, she had nearly attached herself to someone who had the potential to be her husband. But, was that the extent of that day's importance? She didn't sound so desperate to be married that losing a suitor would be a devastation, especially one so shallow. "Valid points, I guess. Why do you call her brush with this man a 'near-miss'? Wouldn't it be a 'near-hit'?"

"I think no girl so lovely deserves a life bonded to a creature so cold. She was fortunate he left. Too much life in her to chain her a flinty man, especially back then. She would have been subject to his every whim."

His being able to put himself so willingly in the shoes of a woman -- a woman who'd lived hundreds of years ago, no less -- pleasantly surprised me. "I imagine her Uncle William would have made the very same argument. Your ability to see her and her world so clearly is…not surprising, exactly…it's just a talent I thought you _could be _concealing. I'm pleased to have guessed correctly about you. For once." Remembering his taunting, wicked smiles, I hoped the one that slowly spread across my face was not as poor an imitation as imagined.

I began cleaning up my mess of papers and note cards. His bag was ready to go so he slid my direction and began helping me.

"That sounded like flattery but…"

I replied noncommittally, struggling to maintain a straight face. "That's how I meant for it to _sound_…." I'd meant that last part as well, the part where I alluded to my incorrect guesses.

He chuckled at my non-response and pursued the matter no further.

Taking a look around the room, he said, "That looks like it. Should we tell the housekeeper we're departing?"

"I think I'll do that, thank you very much She's not a girl anymore, Casanova; I'm not sure her heart could handle another conversation with you. Getting an ambulance down these tiny streets would take all night."

A look of amused shock on his face stopped me. "What?"

And then, _that_ smile.

_Bella, you idiot, you all but told him he could charm the skirt off of an old lady! _He must have been wondering what, in light of that, _I_ thought of him!

I made my face calmly neutral. Admitting he dazzled an old woman to distraction wasn't the end of the world. As admissions go, mine could be much more damning. I hadn't told him I dreamt of him every night. He didn't know I wanted to touch his face, his hair, any part of his skin aside from his graceful hands that spent so much time righting me after I stumbled. He hadn't heard me say that his angelic voice whispered William's poems of supplication and Sophie's promises of redemption, her replies to....

_Oh my_. _Of course._

My thoughts eroded to incomprehensible, struggling with the implications of what I'd just stumbled upon. Had he already realized it, was that why he "empathized" so easily with Sophie?

Probably not. He hadn't spent weeks poring over their correspondence. He was just digging in, wasn't he? I might have been hyperventilating, I might have just forgotten to suck in a breath. Either way, my vision began to dim and sparkle around the edges.

Edward was at my side, holding me by my arms, before I could voice my epiphany.

"Bella, do you need to sit down? Are you okay?"

"I'm fine."

"Your h-- you look like you need to take a deep breath or two. Don't move. I'll speak to the housekeeper, risks be damned, and pull the car right to the door." I smiled at his purposely distracting joke, even if it was at my expense.

My feeble attempt at protest was something about traffic violations as I slumped into the chair that appeared behind me. Now that he mentioned it, I felt light-headed. A little overwhelmed.

He smiled and ran a hand over the top of my head. I leaned into his palm like a kitten being stroked behind the ears. My eyes opened to find him crouched down before me, saying in a low voice, "I haven't gotten a ticket in ages. Stupid American tourists never remember all the local rules, anyway."

He walked away and my brain flooded with snippets of William and Sophie's correspondence, looking for ways to piece them together. They raced around and I couldn't concentrate well enough to slow them. I resorted to something out of character.

I grabbed the slim box on the low shelf beside me that I'd already read through a dozen times, the box I'd watched Edward re-organize today, and slid it into my messenger bag. I laid a scarf over the contents before I closed my bag and sat down once again in the seat Edward procured for me. A fleeting moment of remorse for my conduct bothered me. I swatted it like a buzzing insect. While I wanted to tell Edward I was taking the letters home for the night, I didn't want him to get in trouble for something I'd done.

And I just plain wanted some time alone with them.

* * *

_**Author's note**_: Eventually, it was going to come to this. Before I even began writing this tale I recognized that some verses littering the prose would be necessary. Where nieces and nephews and lovers and travesties could not, fan fiction moved (forced) me to write a poem.

And, while he should maybe have been a tiny bit offended, my husband was simply relieved they weren't his problem.

As always, Danni made this chapter fit to view. She has a shiny new addiction, I'm proud to say. Please ask her about it.

Oh, and please prepare yourselves for another visit to the Cullen residence. You might want to pack a few things....


	6. Chapter Five

_**Disclaimer: **__The Twilight Saga and its characters belong to Stephenie Meyer._

* * *

Light footfalls in the hallway alerted me to Edward's approach. My thieving palms were sweaty and I made a mental note to cross criminal activity off my list of potential careers. I was not cut out for lying.

"Your chariot awaits, Miss Swan." He gave me an appraising once over before he added, "Your color is already beginning to come back. I should've made you eat both sandwiches instead of keeping mine." When had he eaten his?

I felt myself redden under his perusal. "Even better color. Esme is holding you a plate of supper. I am taking you to our house unless you object too strongly."

Of course I objected -- I had a home of my own. "I don't want to impose. You all don't have to entertain me just because I'm a fellow ex-pat."

He had the decency to look apologetic before he informed me that the invitation had been more of a summons. "Alice knows you too well already. She said to tell to please come to our home, it's no imposition…well, a less polished version of that."

"Did it begin with, 'get over yourself' or something along that line?"

"It did, in fact. You two are made for one another, I do believe. She can be overwhelming for new people. It's been lovely to watch her develop a friendship with someone so accepting of her. Not to mention that we all love having you around. It would have been nice to have done all this in Forks years ago."

_All? As in Edward too? _Things had been pleasant today. Why not?

Nonchalantly he noted, "Your bag is heavier than earlier."

I sighed. _Heavy with my guilt._

The letters couldn't _actually_ weigh enough to notice. Still, I felt the need to cover my lie and offered lamely, "I took my scarf off and shoved it in there. Plus my phone and iPod are in there now."

He nodded.

* * *

Classical piano enveloped me in his car, calmed my racing heart and shallow breathing. I turned my head and rested my cheek on the seat facing Edward. The revelation I'd had about Sophie and William continued to demand my attention at first, stomping around my head and pounding the mental furniture like a toddler. Now wasn't the time.

The music helped.

I tried to make my thoughts as still and quiet as possible. Not dishonestly compartmentalizing them, but acknowledging the toddler trying to rule my head and telling him we'd talk later. Eventually, all I heard was the music.

I wasn't an expert on classical music -- far from it, in fact -- but I'd recognized the first two pieces from Renee's collection. The next two were unfamiliar.

One was a sweet, simple melody that swelled, layer by layer, into a joyous celebration. It ended again with the same simple melody, the same notes, but they sounded less stark, rounder in tone. Reborn.

The other pulled at my chest, full of haunting, intentionally discordant notes that floated fragilely on top of a darker melody, pastel-colored lilies dotting the surface of a swamp that housed who knew what kind of malignancy. A lullaby or maybe a pleading tale of unrequited love. It was the strangely compelling story of some desire, a desire beautiful despite its murky depths. It conjured up images straight out of Grimm's fairy tales and the Black Forest. Whatever the composer -- the pied piper -- wanted, I wanted too. His plea was well-made, even without words.

My breathing hitched, musing on what he could want. Or she? Somehow, I didn't think so….

A pair of dark eyes were examining me when I decided I was ready to rejoin reality.

"Are you really feeling better? I can call Carlisle and have him meet us at the hospital if you think you need to."

The threat of a hospital trip helped my reality check even more. I had no intention of sullying my perfectly clean medical history in the British Isles this evening. "Please, no. I have been embarrassed enough for one day, I think. I was just kind of involved in this piece. I'm breathing normally again." I illustrated with one long, even inhale and exhale. "See? Right as rain."

"Indeed." He smiled ironically.

"I really like this." I gestured to indicate the music coming from his stereo. "What is it?"

"Mostly some of my favorite pieces. Debussy, Beethoven, Liszt…."

The darker one was coming to an end. "The last two are lovely but I don't recognize them. This one is breaking my heart, could I hear it again?"

I noticed that we were pulling in to the Cullens'

"I'll play it in the house. Let's get you something to eat."

I wasn't allowed to carry a thing into the house, not even my purse. The messenger bag was draped diagonally across his chest and I watched it like a hawk. As a result I tripped twice between the car and the door in the back of the garage.

"I won't plunder your belongings, I promise. If you don't remain upright, I will, however, put them down and carry you in."

I made it to the den without further stumbling.

Alice and Esme had me swaddled and propped up with a plate of food, a glass each of water and Chianti and two aspirin before I realized that I'd been overrun. Somewhere behind me, I heard Edward's musical laugh harmonize with Carlisle's.

"I tried to warn you. Like magic, but not a ripple." He _had_ tried; I couldn't accuse him of withholding information this time.

Carlisle stepped forward. "Good evening, Bella. How are you feeling?"

"I really am fine. I'm sorry for the scare, it wasn't a big deal."

"Tell me what happened, if you don't mind my asking."

"It's kind of embarrassing, not the sort of thing I'd like to make a big deal over. I was saying something and the way I said it, I hadn't thought of things that way until I heard them out loud.

"I had a sort of revelation about my thesis and I got excited. Overwhelmed, I guess. That was it. Truly. Edward made sure I had lunch -- a sandwich and hot tea -- and I'm _not_ coming down with something. I promise -- nothing's wrong." I smiled gamely to further attest to my excellent health.

Carlisle looked at me like a physician for another moment, appraising, looking for symptoms that would contradict my statements. He touched my forehead with his cool fingers and felt my neck. "Fair enough. You seem just fine now. So, what new revelation about long-dead poets could make a perfectly healthy young lady hyperventilate?"

I narrowed my eyes at Edward. "I did _not_."

"You most certainly did. Now, answer the good doctor. _I'm_ intrigued. Still breathing normally, but intrigued nonetheless."

I wanted to hold my tongue to punish him for being so cheeky in front of his dad. But, Carlisle was looking at me as if I were about to regale him with the most riveting story ever told.

I caved in what was probably record time.

I think I saw Edward barely roll his eyes at Carlisle. They were like a comedy duo or partners on a police force -- Edward's sarcastic bad cop to Carlisle's unflappably good cop, naturally.

Deciding how to say what I'd half-pieced together at the Copeland's took me thirty seconds or so. It was all so jumbled up.

"Sophie's verses about innate goodness and redemption aren't simply poetry. The letters are replies to William's letters. The poems are replies to his as well. It can't be a coincidence that he's looking for forgiveness and goodness in an evil world and her verses are overflowing with both. She sees the nocturnal devices that he fills with malice as misunderstood and transformed in the daylight. He writes of desire and she of redemption. And, neither write with a trace of cynicism.

"Everything _he_ wants _she_ has. To answer him so completely, she has to know why he wants it."

They were still. Edward looked uncomfortable -- maybe because he hadn't thought of the connection?

I'd put off articulating my thoughts, even to myself, and now wished I hadn't. What I said to the two of them was oversimplified and sounded like I was reaching a bit when I heard the words aloud.

So, I backpedaled.

"I need to see her actual letters and read them in the context of his letters -- my timeline seems more useful now. That could all be a reach. But if it's not…if it's not the implication is that William is either looking for redemption because of something he did or for reassurance because of an occurrence he learned of. Both cases seem to require a precipitating event to inspire such a mass of verse about so pointed a subject."

The two Cullen men were quiet as they considered my theories.

That they didn't dismiss them out of hand or smile patronizingly encouraged me.

I squirmed uncomfortably in the silence.

Carlisle spoke first. "You _have_ had a breakthrough in your research today, haven't you? That's an ambitious endeavor, proving that an event or events occurred centuries ago. I might be overwhelmed at such a prospect myself. I'm glad I already have an occupation and can leave it to the two of you.

"Son, you may end up embarrassed if you're not on your game."

Without a hint of sarcasm, Edward said, "I was just thinking the same thing."

He was full of surprises recently. One more to file away for later consideration.

"Bella, let me know if you decide you really aren't feeling well. As far as I'm concerned, I think you're right -- you just inundated yourself with too much information at once, maybe got a little excited. It's always lovely to see you.

"And, dear?"

"Yes, sir?"

"It might help to remember that these events are centuries old. No one is in peril if you don't unravel Sophie's mysteries overnight. You're doing so much already by airing out her lovely verses. Pace yourself." He patted my shoulder, a very fatherly gesture.

"Thank you, Dr. Cullen. That sounds like pretty solid advice. And, before I forget my manners completely -- I'm always glad to see you. I'll try to do it without making you work on your day off next time."

"Carlisle, Bella. It's no trouble. Finding you here has been a happy coincidence for me, too -- for all of us, I think. Good night." He passed a hand over the top of my head and smiled. He looked concerned, like he didn't believe that I would take his advice to pace myself.

Esme seemed the luckiest woman in the world from my nest-like little perch. He was probably just as lucky, I decided.

Edward was looking at my untouched plate of food and asked, "Is your food still warm? I can fix it if it's not."

I wouldn't have let him go through more trouble if it were frozen, but it was just fine. I didn't have to lie about that, at least.

"I'll play that song while you finish eating. When you're done, we're hashing out your hypothesis, though."

He stood, to get his iPod I assumed, and I started on the heaping pile of vegetable lasagna. I had to stifle a moan; it was heavenly.

Warning me that we would be hashing out my theory seemed polite on the surface, a nicety I would usually have appreciated from Edward. His every word and action seemed orchestrated to keep me off balance.

This empty gesture was no different. He didn't want me to notice his destination until it was too late for me to speak. Instead of watching him to his destination, I stewed over which Sophie and William theories I wanted to discuss, sifting out the most embarrassing ones.

To my staggering disbelief, Edward sat down at the baby grand across the room and began to play. No way could I have interrupted once he began -- my reaction was visceral and immediate. The painfully sweet tugging began again in my chest.

I swirled my Chianti, occupying my hands in an effort to settle my thoughts.

Edward never looked at the keys as his fingers caressed their surfaces.

No sheet music sat propped up before him.

As intimately involved as he was in the delicate swells and melancholy cadence he played, I never felt uncomfortable. I never felt as if I were interrupting his reverie. I was just as swept up in it as he was, drawn along with him. The act of being so intimately involved in the presence of another person usually made me uncomfortable but, when I closed my eyes, I was washed into it with him and without any lingering self-consciousness. I could convince myself that the melody swelled up as I inhaled, that it became part of me, that it would forever take up satisfied residence inside the rise and fall of my chest.

My heart felt like a metronome.

As the music drew towards its bittersweet end -- I knew without being told that it was ending -- I realized the glass in my hand was empty. Yet, still I swirled my nonexistent wine. I must have drained it at some point and I wiped a drop of red from the corner of my mouth -- more evidence that I'd been moving something other than air as he played.

The house could have come down around us and I might or might not have taken note.

I stilled my hand and the thoughts roiled again.

_Had he written that? No wonder Alice missed his playing -- his "compositions" -- while he was away. What was Edward denied that could have provoked such a response? _I wanted to spend as much time poring over him as I did Sophie, a thought I'd have to work hard to banish later. Something else to repent at my leisure.

My dreams now had a musical score.

We'd been sitting in silence for more than a minute before the din in my head quieted.

In a low voice, one that barely stirred the atmosphere between us, he stated, "Your glass is empty, I'll be right back." I knew better, of course, but I wanted to believe that Edward ghosted a hand over the back of my hair as he left, so I did. Certainly, it was only the air being displaced as he slid by the back of my chair.

The bottle he returned with was more than half-empty. Edward said repentantly, "I didn't even ask. Could I interest you in another glass?"

I wanted to take the bottle from him, tip it up to my lips, empty it and wait for the warm calm to wash over me. _Do you have anything stronger?_

Instead, I only said, "Please."

I hadn't noticed him take a drink, but his own glass was close to empty.

Without any lead in, I said, "You could've told me in the car."

He countered immediately. "_You_ could've told _me_ in the library. Or the car."

I was oxygen-deprived, he had no such excuse! "Touche, Mr. Cullen. So, that _was _yours, yes?"

"I wrote it but it belongs to someone else. When are we going to return that box of letters, Miss Swan?"

"Tomor-- what do you mean?" _Damn him. He'd gotten a confession -- twice -- before I'd even noticed._

He knew, the conniving bastard, and he knew I was still wrapped up in that damned song, that I was unprepared. How did he know and why did he maneuver things this way? Couldn't we have a conversation on equal footing?

Why were things so contorted where he was involved?

Every memory of every conversation we'd had felt like watching the reflection of a normal dialogue in a fun house mirror. Edward's height put his reflection one wave higher than mine and he loomed, distorted, over tiny me.

I had to take a breath and remind myself that no human being was capable of the manipulation I was crediting him with. I felt childish. I wasn't the same high school girl who felt the need to bring myth and fantasy into every coincidence. He wasn't _that_ manipulative.

Things could be worse. It didn't seem he had any intention of ratting me out to the Copelands or the authorities. But, if he didn't care too much that I was bringing my criminal misdeeds into his home, he was -- _surprise! _-- attempting some misdirection.

He laughed. From his Italian-leather clad soles to his impossibly upright bronze locks, he laughed at my shoddy deceit and indecision. I was just grateful that the mood had lightened.

At least he wasn't angry. He did have every right to be since he'd get in just as much trouble as me if I were caught.

He prompted me, "Tomorrow, you were about to say? If we are risking an entire night, I demand an equal share of the plunder in exchange for my equal risk of punishment."

_The hell, you say! _"You want _half_ the letters?"

"No. Just equal access."

He did have a point, so I considered letting him stay up to read as long as I did. Begrudgingly, I offered, "I'll have them at my apartment, you can drive me home and then stay till you're done. How's that?"

"Not good enough."

"Okay, now you're just being greedy. Plus, there's nowhere for you to sleep in my tiny place." Once the words left my mouth, my neck and face heated immediately. _Of all the stupid things to suggest…._

"I was thinking of something significantly less scandalous."

"I wasn't suggesting--"

He cut me off. Never had I been so relieved for an interruption. "No, I didn't get the impression you were. I was just thinking that you staying _here_ tonight would be a simple solution. Alice and Rose and Esme are bound to have just about anything you'd require. I think they have everything any woman would require for an overnight visit in any corner of the globe. You'd have a room of your own and we could work here undisturbed until we had to return them tomorrow afternoon.

"Esme assumed you were staying when she wrapped you up earlier and has already promised a lovely breakfast and a fluffy robe."

When I didn't respond immediately, he stooped to asking, "How does that sound?"

_Like heaven and hell and everything I want so fiercely that I have to pretend it doesn't exist. Say 'no', Bella. Firmly but kindly, no. _

"Okay." I'd never agreed to anything, not even something sweet and harmless, so meekly.

He looked relieved. Probably at the fact that he could have what he wanted without having to be alone with me in my tiny apartment. "And, for the record, I'm not against 'borrowing' antique documents. But, next time, let me be the one engaging in questionably criminal activity. It makes me uncomfortable to push my dirty work off on someone so…pristine."

I balked at his insinuation. "The way you say 'pristine' is almost insulting. I just cut a fairly significant corner, especially for a police chief's daughter. That's far from above reproach."

All the talk of scandalous behavior, and that generous glass of wine, made me brave. I leaned forward and cocked my eyebrow at him. "You don't know what I am or am not capable of. You and I are just getting reacquainted, Mr. Cullen. Any number of awful things could have occurred in your absence."

"Forgive my impertinence, I'll have to update your dossier." He punctuated his faux-remorse with my favorite crooked grin. I knew better than to try to voice my acquiescence so I simply beamed in return.

Indicating the slim box that had -- somehow -- magically teleported itself from my bag to a side table, he said, "So, now that we are officially partners in crime, let's plot some criminal activity."

* * *

My intention had been to sort through the letters at home, without his piercing observations, so that I could cipher out his organizational tabbing system. He was piecing things together like I was and I didn't _want_ to accuse him of hiding something. He just always seemed like he was. If anyone understood the importance of being able to concentrate on a subject without interference, I did.

Resenting Edward's secrets was an old habit dying hard, flopping and drawing out its death-throes melodramatically. I needed to find a way to get over it.

I heard my fifth grade teacher explaining prepositions. Or around it, through it, under it, on it…something a rabbit does to a stump. How I avoided the obstacle of my resentment was less important than doing it.

Our conspiracy helped me feel better about his secret-keeping.

I sighed aloud at the memory of my co-conspirator abandoned on the other side of the globe. Imagining Jake's choice words for my involvement in the Cullens' crime syndicate made me momentarily doubt the decision to let Edward into my confidence on this.

But, who better to engage in sinister behavior with than a person whose entire life was a giant box of questions? He was as silent as the grave on the subject of Edward Cullen.

_I wrote it but it belongs to someone else_? What the hell kind of response was that? I reminded myself that it was another reason my trust was not misplaced.

It was still annoying as hell.

I watched him leaf through the letters again and we began to settle in for the evening. Already a few edges were slipping from underneath the others but no discernable pattern was emerging.

With no other alternative presenting itself, I stirred the pot to see what would bob to the surface.

"Do you have the letter that talks about her garden?"

"There's more than one in this pile -- which one do you need?"

"Hmm. Now I don't remember…may I?" I gestured towards his stack. "I'll be quick, I promise."

"Now who's being greedy?"

I made a noise of protest, going through the motions so he wouldn't suspect my real intent.

Flipping through the letters quickly while wearing cotton gloves wasn't easy and I didn't want the aged paper to pay for my clumsy fingers. My heart pounded in my chest. My eyes narrowed and I was certain my pupils had dilated -- I was on the hunt.

"You must really be onto something."

_Holy crow, must he notice every cursed detail? Seriously?_

"I don't know. I'm not too anxious to embarrass myself again, so give me a minute." There. My tone was nonchalant and the answer vague enough to elicit approval from even the King of Few Details.

I didn't need his approval, just his temporary indulgence….

The only difference I could see between the pulled letters and the rest was that they had William's unpublished poems in them. And, none of the letters he'd left alone contained an unpublished poem. I wasn't too concerned with anything but the unpublished stuff myself. All that top-notch acting to discover that we were barking up the same tree.

Not as interesting as I'd hoped.

"Here it is…no not the same flowers. I noticed her fascination with gentians and I couldn't remember what blossom she used in this verse, I was hoping they might be indicative of something…not the same. What do _you_ think?" He didn't seem to fond of parting with theories of his own for all of his spouting about sharing.

I leaned forward and let my v-neck t-shirt gape at the neck just a bit -- even nice girls own push-up bras.

I could do distracting if I tried.

Edward swallowed thickly.

My eyes never left the letters in my hand. Slowly, hoping I looked like I was very concerned with their content, I turned them so that he could read as well. "She only mentions gentians in this letter." He moved forward to point out the letter I needed at the same time I pulled the throw -- the same one I'd worn at dinner the other night -- off my shoulders to lean towards him. He tensed and his black eyes locked with mine.

_Why_ did I look up?

The notch reappeared.

"I…_um_…pajamas." And he was through the doorway where Alice stood with an armful of jersey knit. Intent on holding Edward's attention, I hadn't noticed her there.

"Would you like to change? Esme said you'd be staying here tonight!"

"Thank you. That would be really nice."

"Edward's supposed to be getting a robe for you. It's on my top shelf and Jasper's not here to reach it so he gets to be my gopher." He was up before she appeared in the doorway, wasn't he?

"This is all very sweet but I don't want to be too much trouble. I can sleep in my t-shirt and some pajama bottoms."

"Nonsense. I bought these for company and they've never been worn. Please? It will be one purchase Jasper can't hound me about."

"Well, if it's a public service…" I took the proffered stack.

They were delicious. Peacock blue jersey bottoms and scoop-neck top. No bows or lace, but they were trimmed in distressed velvet and felt like just barely more than nothing. A kiss, if such a fabric existed.

My cheeks warmed at the thought.

"I have these in black and gray -- I love them. I threw some socks and slippers in there too. I have tons of clothes if you need something in the morning. I'll make a little pile you can choose from for tomorrow. C'mon, your room's just up the hallway. I'll show you while Edward gets your robe."

My room was just a couple doors down from the library. The walls looked as if they had once been jade but, having seen centuries' worth of occupants, had faded to a sheer wash reminiscent of water. I had a feeling the only occupants it had actually seen were the Cullens and the aged paint was courtesy of a clever painter. The bed was roughly queen sized and had no headboard or footboard. The bedding looked like a creamy cloud the color of steamed milk.

Too bad I was hours from sleeping.

A glass chandelier -- Venetian, I guessed -- hung over the middle of the bed. Centered at its head was a gilt-framed mirror easily seven or eight feet tall, crackled and stained with age. The top was a half round. A bench shaped like a church pew sat at the foot of the bed. I made a mental note of its location to avoid a broken toe on the way to the bathroom. Alice had already put toiletries and knit booties on it.

Beside the bed was a window hung with curtains that looked like tapestries. That the gold and rust and sable looked so appropriate against the water-colored walls surprised me. Mismatched alabaster lamps were on the beside tables and tiny paintings and landscapes adorned the wall behind them. Esme seemed to have a talent for bringing harmony out of discord.

It was charming and comforting but not stuffy.

Alice said in a soft voice, "This is my favorite room in the house, I think."

"It doesn't look at all like you, Alice. I'm surprised -- you seem more the old Hollywood glamour meets Tom Ford type. I'll have to see your room again to decide if I believe you. I just remember being bowled over by it."

"You don't miss the details, do you, Bella?"

* * *

My room -- the _guest_ room -- shared a bathroom with Edward. Alice said the other guest rooms were downstairs and across the house. She thought it might be easier to find it on my own if it were close to the library.

Why _shouldn't_ this arrangement be preferable? I couldn't even articulate that response to myself, I was so ashamed.

I got the sneaking suspicion Alice was putting me on a collision course with her brother. Our imagined collision worried me only slightly less than the fallout.

Alice was kind enough to add a camisole to wear underneath the pajama ensemble. The saturated blue was not something I would have picked out on my own but the color was pretty. Once I had them on, I remembered a blue blouse I owned in high school close to the same shade. I'd worn it for my yearbook picture from junior year.

Footsteps announced someone's path down the hall and the tap on my door, their destination. "Bella, I have your robe. I can leave--"

In my inexplicable rush to open the door I jammed my toes on the church pew bench. I felt certain no supplication of the Almighty had been vocalized quite so colorfully in its presence before that moment.

The doorknob was already turning when I reached for it.

Edward averted his face. "I'm sorry. I heard…and I thought you might need something."

"No. It's fine. Thanks. I knocked the sh…enanigans out of my toes."

"'Shenanigans'? No need to bother editing now, not on my account."

We shared an uneasy laugh. He held out a heap of pewter cashmere to me.

"Your robe, madam." As I sunk my arms in the sleeves he continued, "Esme made you a mocha. I told her I'd never seen you drink anything espresso-based, but she sent it up anyway. I think she knows were pulling an all-nighter."

I wondered what she'd think if I confessed that this wouldn't be my first late night with her son. I wondered what he'd think.

"_All_-nighter?" I eyed him warily.

"Backing down so soon? I'm disappointed, Bella."

"I shouldn't have downed all that wine and pasta. I'm getting sleepy already." As sleepy as I might have been on the surface, my subconscious keeper of Dream Edward readied herself for an exciting night of no-work and all-play.

"You can take a nap…or you can down this mocha. Your call."

"Oh, it's the mocha all the way. You've thrown down the gauntlet."

"That's what I thought." He smirked and nodded in approval.

Why did that make me want to do exactly the opposite? He wasn't insinuating that I was an awful person for wanting to stay up all night to comb through stolen manuscripts -- he was probably agreeing. _Just get over it already, Bella. You're friend…ly research partners. _

* * *

Sometime after two in the morning, my eyelids began to droop dangerously. I was teetering on the edge of drooling all over antique documents -- a no-no to say the least -- and I knew I needed to call it a night soon.

My night would not end without a sense of accomplishment, though. Everything I'd read reinforced my theory that William was looking for forgiveness for something specific, the details of which I couldn't quite wrap my head around, and Sophie was trying to comfort him, extend what mercy she could. She reminded him of his worth at every turn.

From the beginning I'd sensed their bond was out of the ordinary -- more than avuncular -- and perusing these letters again with that thought in mind brought supporting quotes to the surface. Ten pages worth of supporting quotes.

To get some blood moving, I paced the room a bit, rolling my neck to work out the kinks I'd made spending the last six hours hunched over a notebook.

"So, should we call it? Time of death, two--"

I knew it was time to go to sleep -- I was so exhausted I hadn't spoken a word in over an hour -- but I hated conceding anything to him. I shook my head at my own pigheadedness. Being an occasional ass didn't make him any less right.

"No? You can barely shake your head. You're exhausted; we should go to bed."

I didn't have the energy to laugh properly at the possible sexual innuendo he'd made but I didn't have the wherewithal to bite it back either.

"Now, what fun would _that _be if you were too exhausted to even laugh at me? None at all."

_Oh. My. God_.

He chuckled. "And don't look so shocked, I know what an innuendo is. Your brain is the one that's too shot to even form words. Come on."

"I wanna sleep but I keep thinking I'm overlooking something…" I punctuated my thought with a yawn.

"Like Carlisle said, these people are long buried, there's no rush. We've got weeks before the Copelands toss us out for good. You are doing yourself no good."

"Speak for yourself, buddy."

He peered down his nose at me.

"I'm not the one who can't even hold her head up."

"You win. My muscles are a knotted mess, I'm going to be so sore tomorrow, and my toes are already throbbing."

"Let me see…" He patted his knee for me to prop my foot on. He put down his mug of chocolate and I sat down across from him. I propped my foot up -- bootie and all -- on his thigh.

"I'm going to have to take this off to actually see your foot, Bella." Without waiting for a response, he slid the cable knit cuff down my calf and slipped the whole thing off my foot. His hands were warmer than I expected -- hot from the cocoa -- warmer than the Edward who caressed my face in my dreams.

_Because they're not the same._

Wordlessly, he pressed his thumb into the pad of my foot, probing methodically, closing in slowly on the injured toes. I curled my toes over, guarding the hurt part of my foot, and he grazed his thumb over them, coaxing them back to a relaxed position.

_Breathe, Bella. His dad is a doctor, he's just making sure you aren't injured too badly. He's saved you from more injuries than Charlie and Renee combined, touching your foot is no big deal._

I took another breath and memories of all the stumbles and bumps flickered past my eyes. He'd picked me up more than a dozen times, put my books back in order, dusted off my backpack and handed it back silently.

We shook on our exchange of letters in the manuscript room without taking our gloves off.

In my mind, I saw his hands on my sleeves, on my hair, around my clothing-covered middle or carefully dropping my keys into my upturned palm. Everywhere but in contact with my skin.

I felt my breath slow as the significance of his slim fingers probing my digits for injuries sunk in. My hair fell forward and covered my face, giving me a moment of imagined privacy. I wanted to yank my leg back and hobble off to bed, pretending like I hadn't noticed anything, blissful in my lack of discovery.

Examining Edward never got me anywhere, that much I already knew. That didn't mean I had to stop _entirely_, but I didn't need to dwell on how and why and where he touched me. The idea should have been intuitive -- like not putting my hand into a fire -- not something I had to remind myself.

He leaned forward and pushed my curtain of privacy back.

"Hey. Does that hurt too badly? Should I go get Carlisle? Or maybe an anti-inflammatory for now?" He brought his fingers around the crest of my ear and secured the hair they held behind it. The outside edge of my ear burned and tingled in his wake.

I think I shook my head in response.

I was certain now that his skin had never touched mine. _This_ I would have remembered.

Exhaustion had me dancing on the uncertain edge between reality and fantasy. Rather than the pencil-thin, straight gray line I expected, what I found was the ebb and flow of waves on the shore. Of course, the coupling of two states of mind so disparate would be gradual, a portion of the map constantly subject to alteration -- always changing, never allowing me to get my bearings. If I stilled myself, the fantasy washed over me in an Earl Grey tinged lick of tide and I just knew Edward's face would close in on mine.

Then, it sucked back out to sea, taking my imagined certainty with it and leaving me reeling.

I closed my eyes and blinked them back open. The reality was that Edward's right hand remained behind my ear and his left hand held my foot by the arch. I closed my eyes again.

I registered the sensations of him picking me up and carrying me to my bed like a child, but I didn't see the hallway or know how he opened the door. I just remembered him tucking me in.

"Good night, Bella."

"Wait."

He chuckled. "There's something more you want? "

The answer slipped out before I could work up a slick transition. "Why aren't we friends? I think we should be."

He sighed, a breathy resignation. "Bella, I am not a good friend for you but I won't pretend anymore like I don't want to be your friend. Like I haven't always wanted to be your friend."

Blinking open my heavy lids, I mumbled, "You did?"

The house was so quiet and he was so close, his voice was a low murmur. "Of course, I did. Didn't I make that plain today?"

"So, what'd I do to keep you away? I wanted to be friends. Really. I know I was sarcastic, but you always made me so damned mad. You still do, kinda. I think you do it on purpose." I propped myself up on my elbows, fighting the cloud of sleep I was all tangled in.

"I wish I could undo that, erase my regrettable conduct from your memory. But, what's done is done. I won't make you regret being friends with me now, I promise."

"I'm thinking about making you write that down."

He smiled. I wasn't being funny. "Probably a wise move on your part."

He continued, his sugar-coated voice pleading with me now. "Now, will you please sleep? You won't even remember this exchange in the morning." I thought he said, "You never do," but I couldn't quite make out his whisper.

"Yes, I will -- you're going to write it down."

"If you sleep, I will write it down."

I leaned up more, practically sitting now. "Something else."

"Bella, can't it wait? I'll be here tomorrow, I swear -- I am two doors down and I'm not leaving tonight."

"That's just it. It won't be tonight, probably, but it _will_ happen sometime -- you're always in the process of communicating a farewell to me. So, I will do this while I'm punch-drunk and brave."

I turned over on to one elbow. "Why hadn't you touched me before tonight? Why had I never felt your fingers before that?"

"I've picked you up and dusted you off more than once, Miss Swan. I've touched you. It must not have been too memorable -- what did you say, 'you give it more weight than it deserves by simply mentioning it'? Why are you assigning such weight to my making sure you were uninjured? Again."

"You think I wouldn't rem…you didn't…stop toying with me."

For once, Edward Cullen looked ashamed at the exact moment I wanted him to.

"My fingers were on your skin. You felt them. Do I really need to elaborate?" I could hear that he clenched his jaw. And that he sounded disgusted.

"When you say it like that, no. But I'm sure we're not communicating on the same level. We never do. Tell me why you've never touched your skin to mine. I promise I'll go to sleep if you do, cross my heart."

"I just didn't for so long…even though I wanted to…and then it occurred to me that if I did, I would be so conscious of it, your skin would sear me like a brand. Things this evening were so relaxed -- today's been a high water mark for us, I think -- that I decided to get it over with, to touch you in a controlled setting.

"Because, if I was right about how I'd react, being overwhelmed in front of strangers wouldn't be a great idea. Or, what if you really hurt yourself and I was so wrapped up in taking care of a real injury that I didn't get to even think about it?"

A realistic concern.

I turned over his palm and traced a lazy line from its center up his wrist to his forearm. My finger lingered there in haphazard curlicues, loitering contentedly. "There are no strangers here. No blood has been spilled so, for once, I don't need rushing to a hospital…what's the verdict?" I looked pointedly at my finger dancing up his wrist, tracing the surface of what I imagined were the paths his blood traveled with the back of my fingernail. There was something so vulnerable about that stretch of skin.

Vulnerable but rock-solid. He seemed so knotted with muscles that I'd barely noticed before now.

When I looked up to see why he hadn't responded, his eyes were closed.

"You can't imagine how that feels."

"I can…I think. Help me."

His eyelids raised deliberately, like the curtain on a stage, and I made sure the face he sought was clean of all pretense. My motives were less than unimpeachable but were certainly muddled. I had no idea what I hoped to gain here.

Whatever it was, I knew I'd regret its acquisition soon enough.

It just felt like somewhere I needed to go. Again, I felt the ebb of reality and the wash of fantasy taint my thought processes.

With painful slowness, handling me like an artifact on the verge of collapse, he put three fingers against my radial pulse and his thumb on the opposite surface of my wrist. He turned it over by degree.

I wanted to look at anything but him, to avert my eyes from the disaster that this could become, but I was mesmerized.

The three fingers began to alternate pressure, rocking and I realized that he was drawing, leaving a signature I felt down into bone and sinew, without moving them from their place. The rhythm loosened and hung there in a holding pattern. The teasing meter continued but they held their ground, not leaving their place.

It felt like a warning, this halt in his advance. I exhaled and closed my eyes, the only assent I could muster.

He stopped moving altogether. An exhaled noise of protest crossed my lips without proper consent and I looked up at him, crushed.

That must have been the assent he wanted -- like he sensed my struggle with delusion and wanted to test that I capable of saying 'yes' -- and he continued, progressing from simply resting the weight of his fingers on the sensitive underside of my wrist to lightly exploring the irregular sheath over the twist of blood vessels and tendons.

He continued to widen the scope of his ownership up and down my forearm.

I had to remind myself to breath in and out; the now overloaded nerve-endings in my forearms had short-circuited the rest of my body's synapses.

My desperation for sleep made the whole experience more than a little surreal. I was Bella through the looking-glass.

I faltered in my hold on consciousness, flitting in and out of wakefulness, vaguely noting that he was putting me to sleep when I refused to go there myself. I wanted to object…really, I did.

My limbs were leaden, my head dipped forward. It must have because his other hand curled into the hair at the nape of my neck, supporting it, as his arm eased beneath mine to take my weight from off my elbow.

I was laid on my side in the position I fell asleep when in my own bed. His left hand still lolled along my skin.

"'M not asleep."

"Sleep, Bella. It will make my job so much easier." He pulled my left arm out of my robe.

* * *

**Author's Note**: Danni and Clementine -- you two are the Sapphire and lime to my tonic. Victorian porn, indeed.

Is it blasphemous for a good Irish girl to drink Earl Grey in Ireland? On St. Paddy's Day?


	7. Chapter Six

_**Disclaimer:** The Twilight Saga and its characters belong to Stephenie Meyer. _

* * *

"the lesson of the moth" is by archy (Don Marquis)

I wrote the other verses but, this week, 'they belong to someone else.'

* * *

(Yes, this is getting posted much earlier than expected -- after all the love, I didn't have the heart to not post when it was finished. )

* * *

The sound of someone showering in the bathroom I shared with Edward awoke me. That would probably be _Edward_ showering in _his_ bathroom, I corrected myself. I groaned and pulled the covers over my head, sinking down into them.

I'd slept soundly, dreamlessly, but I wasn't sure if I was ready to face the Cullen clan so early.

Peeking my head over the covers, I noticed some changes from the night before. My dark gray robe lay across the injurious wooden bench. The curtains had been pulled so that just a hint of the cloudy day filtered in. A whisper of steam curled up from the mug of Earl Grey on my bedside table. The note beside it said,

**I have waffles for anyone who stayed up all night doing homework.**

_**If **_**they're interested.**

**~ Esme**

I smiled at her sweet note and considered getting out of my cocoon.

Light knocking came from the bathroom door.

"Are you awake yet, Bella? We only have a few more hours until we have to take the letters back."

"I'm awake. You can stick your head in if you want."

Sock-footed, damp-headed Edward stepped sheepishly around the corner. He had on a gray V-neck t-shirt and worn-in jeans and looked better than any Greek god had a right to after only having run has hands through his hair. Couched down at my bedside on the balls of his toes, he ruffled my hair and asked quietly, "Did you sleep well?"

"Like the dead."

For some reason, he thought that was exceptionally funny. I had better material.

"Esme thought I might wake you when I took a shower so she brought up some tea."

"I saw that, thanks. So, do you want to pick up where we left off or do you want to wait until we get to the Copelands to start in on Sophie and William again?"

The light made his skin look mother-of-pearl perfect -- every shade of pale backlit by some indirect source. A rare glimpse of the moon in daylight, but with a flush -- probably from the shower. His eyes were equally luminescent, like a jar of honey left sitting on a window-sill. Gone were the ebony eyes and their dark circles from late last night.

A restful night agreed with him.

I realized with a flush of my own, that those very eyes were skimming over my hair, my cheeks, my mouth…they lingered at my mouth.

"I'm trying to remember where we left off…"

My reply wouldn't come.

Edward stood from his crouch with a feral grace that would make a ninja check under his bed each night. He drew his cool pointer finger down the slope of my nose, dotting the "i" gently at its tip.

"You are the one who took the initiative to bring them here so we'll do whatever you want. I'll meet you downstairs -- how many waffles should Esme make you?"

* * *

After giving careful consideration to doing just the opposite, I took a searing hot shower in a moderately successful effort to burn the fog off my thinking faculties.

I tried to think about something else -- the gloomy weather that had settled in, Sophie's intimate connection to her uncle, breakfast. Anything apart from Edward Cullen would have worked.

But his presence clouded my ability to reason. I was so besotted with the man of my literal dreams that I let this one tug at my emotions while my defenses fell to the wayside.

On the other hand, why shouldn't Edward Cullen, the _real _Edward Cullen, be flirting with me? And, why did that prospect still make me a little mad?

Weren't those the million-dollar questions?

It would take more than a ten-minute shower to figure out some answers so I tried again to concentrate on the incredible smells wafting up from the kitchen.

* * *

I told her two but Esme insisted on making me three waffles. I ate one and a half -- as well as a pile of berries and two pieces of bacon washed down by a glass of juice. Wearing Alice's skirt had been a mistake; the waistband bit into me after my breakfast.

Her jeans were just as tight -- the skirt had still been the lesser of two evils. The added bonus of the gray tweed skirt was what she'd laid out with it --a burgundy cashmere sweater, ivory silk camisole and suede boots. The boots were almost black with a wash of wine to them, like a cherry coke held up to the sun. And just as delicious.

Jasper and Alice said goodbye on their way out -- well, Jasper said hello and goodbye while Alice mouthed the word "hot" and winked at me -- but Emmett and Rose were long gone by the time I came downstairs. Come to think of it, I still hadn't crossed paths with them yet. Carlisle had worked a night shift and wasn't quite ready for bed when I finished my breakfast. He, Esme and Edward chatted around the breakfast table with me.

Edward decided he needed to tell Carlisle about my toe so I stole the last of his bacon and dredged it in his syrup before I made a show of eating it.

He looked mildly revolted; only Esme thought it was funny.

"What does our day look like, Bella?"

_Our. _Intoxicating.

"We have a couple of hours before we can show up at the Copelands' front door, but I don't feel like getting all the letters out again. Maybe just go over a couple and some notes?"

"Your wish, my command."

I made him regret this morning's exemplary manners immediately. "So amenable today -- should Esme get the credit?"

His mother looked shocked. "Edward. You aren't mistreating our Bella, are you?"

"Of course not. I was brought up to treat ladies well. I think _she_ might need to cop to some misconduct, though -- and under your roof, no less."

My face blanched. Why the hell would I tell his mom that we brought the letters here?

Esme gave Edward a reproving glare. "I see what Bella was referring to now."

Turning to me, she said sweetly, "I think that Bella is a responsible scholar who knows enough about how to treat antique documents to be able to decide when and where to read them. My library was honored to be the scene of the crime."

I smiled at her, fighting the urge to stick my tongue out at Edward. Carlisle was unsuccessful at holding in his smirk.

Looking down his nose at me with mock-seriousness, Edward said, "Miss Swan -- to the library, please. I think we need to make some arrangements for your surrender with the local authorities." He turned and, when I didn't follow, looked back and eyed me with an arched brow.

"Now." Esme and I giggled. I moved towards the sink with my breakfast dishes.

She handed me another cup of tea, shooed me out of the kitchen and whispered, "Go. Company doesn't do dishes." As an afterthought, she added, "I don't know what gets into him sometimes; he used to be so mannerly. Next thing you know, he'll be dipping your pigtails in the inkwell."

From the stairs I heard, "Isn't she lucky all the inkwells in this house have been dry since the turn of the last century…."

* * *

He was waiting for me in the library with a Cheshire Cat grin.

I shook my head. "You told your mom on me."

"She loved being in on it; they both did. And, um, they weren't going to believe you handle all your homework with white cotton gloves. It was preemptive; they would've asked."

My choice of Edward as a partner for under-the-table dealings was looking better and better. "I hadn't even thought about it. So, thanks for ratting me out, I guess."

"They're more than fine with us bringing the letters here. Don't give it another thought, really." Pointedly, he looked at my skirt and stockings, effectively changing the subject. "Alice?"

I smiled and rolled my eyes. "Yes. She laid out 'options' for me. I half-expected a look-book. I can't breathe in her jeans, but a skirt seems a bit much for doing homework -- though this was the least dressy. Beggars don't get to be choosers…." I shrugged, uncomfortable with being examined.

"You hardly look like a beggar. I only think I've seen you in a skirt at your graduation. I like it, if that counts for anything."

My cheeks began a slow increase in temperature and I played with a non-existent bit of lint on my sleeve. "Alice has lovely taste."

"Alice isn't wearing it. The compliment was intended for you, but I can pass it along to her if you don't want it." He smiled and shook his head at my inability to simply say "thank you".

"Thank you. For passing it along and…for saying so." I stumbled over the last bit but I knew he understood me. My cheeks only warmed a little more.

Clearing his throat, he indicated the white gloves I'd picked up. "So, back to business? Where do you want to start?"

As he donned his gloves, I slipped on my much smaller pair. "Definitely with the moth. She must have mentioned a moth in a poem, I can't wait to see hers. Here he is mentioning it in a letter and then," I fished around in our stack, "in a later poem."

"I like that train of thought. What made you put those letters together?"

I wish I knew how to explain it, but I woke up in my down nest this morning with it on my mind. "I don't really know. I just woke up thinking about it. And about the carriage poem -- compared to the others it's violently emotional. I haven't quite put that with anything else yet…maybe tomorrow morning I'll wake up with more revelations. I do my best thinking when I'm asleep. I slept through senior Calculus and somehow passed…."

He chuckled. "I'm becoming jealous of your useful dreams. Do tell more…."

_Whoops. I'll hardly be telling _you_ more about my nighttime musings._ "Diffusion -- I put torn-out textbook pages under my pillow. I go to sleep and wake up wiser -- not much to tell."

At least he was still laughing. Now, if he would only move on….

"Why do I get the feeling you're holding out on me? Is it a trade secret?"

No such luck. "Yes -- that's it exactly. A trade secret. Now, can we get back to the moths, Mr. Cullen?"

"By all means, Miss Swan." He was indulging me.

* * *

The housekeeper was more than happy to see us return.

As we entered the Copeland's library I realized that I was surprisingly comfortable with Edward being here. And not just more at ease than the day prior. I could have been defusing a nuclear weapon -- _not the red and __**blue**__ wire, the red and __**black**__ one _-- and my impending doom would seem less certain than it had when we'd entered the same room twenty-four hours earlier.

I wasn't uncomfortable, not resigned, not even ambivalent. I was glad to have him with me, even in the close little room that I'd considered a torture chamber designed specifically for me.

We'd spent more than twenty-four hours together and I wouldn't have said that the immersion had made me oblivious to Edward's pull, but it had knocked the edge off it.

My guard was officially down. Things were cozy. We were friends.

Wordlessly, Edward walked to the library door to be my lookout -- we'd agreed ahead of time that he'd be more successful at distracting the housekeeper than I would ever be, should it come to that -- and I replaced the box on the shelf.

We set up camp and began working in companionable silence. I could hardly ask for better.

I dug into the moth poem immediately.

_*_

_Each creature, assigned nobly their place--_

_A humble vocation,_

_A lofty midnight task._

_-_

_He eschews it, fluttering vigil replaced--_

_Stolen assignation_

_Of illicit warmth._

_-_

_The fixed orbit altered by a fatal pull._

_Graceful, trembling pearl wings_

_Singed by vanity_

_-_

_Thus reproved, wings sooted and dull_

_The moth in search of balm_

_Unrepentant leaves_

_*_

"So, what do you make of all the moth imagery, Miss Swan?"

When I finally spoke, I'd been silent so long my voice creaked like a rusty hinge. "First, the obvious -- a moth, as an insect, is pretty low on the totem pole of living things. And this one is a 'he'. I'm going to take a leap and say now that William is the moth, and he views himself as something lowly.

"Also, moths are associated with nighttime -- darkness. The moth's job is called both 'a humble vocation' and a 'lofty midnight task', so I'm wondering if he isn't referring to two separate duties…now I'm just speculating.

"Help, please? Where is your head?"

He pretended to consider his words for a moment -- probably to make me feel better for only being able to regurgitate the obvious -- and then said, "I love that the moth here isn't only a nighttime pest. He could've chosen a more sinister nocturnal creature."

Oooh. I liked it. "Yes. Exactly -- like a bat. They're creepy and come out at night."

He laughed and started again quickly. "There is that example…. I was thinking something more predatory, like a wolf, but instead he implies some forgiveness for the moth's impertinence early on, calling himself 'graceful' with 'trembling pearl wings' and only being 'singed', not consumed."

Instinctively, I cringed at the mention of sinister, nocturnal wolves. Their teeth dripping blood, lips pulled back in a snarl -- they were indeed my very own nightmare. They would certainly fit the bill.

My expression must have betrayed my discomfort.

Edward laid his white-gloved hand over my own, more than covering it. Kindly, he asked, "This letter is close to the end of your timeline, yes? "

"Very."

"Maybe he is almost convinced."

I pulled out my trump card -- the only real contribution I felt I could make. "Do you know the 'Lesson of the Moth'? I only remember part of it, but that's what this letter from William and the poem bring to mind. I've got it in my binder somewhere…."

I flipped through to find my copy while I spoke. "But, instead of what William says about the moth being singed because he's trying to perform the vocation he's been given by God and, at the same time, the one he wants for himself, it speaks directly to the moth's _motivation_ for wanting more.

"Which is what I'm really interested in now…William's motivation for his actions in the first place, not the reasons he regrets his actions later. This is what I imagine William was feeling."

When I looked up from my rummaging, Edward gentle attention had crystallized painfully. As I prepared to read the Don Marquis poem, his hand went reflexively to the bridge of his nose and he exhaled audibly.

I continued anyway.

"The moth is questioned and then he speaks. He says:

_it is better to be a part of beauty_

_for one instant and then cease to_

_exist than to exist forever _

_our attitude toward life_

_is come easy go easy_

_we are like human beings_

_used to be before they became _

_too civilized to enjoy themselves'_"

Visibly, Edward's jaw flexed; his entire body stiffened. The words that escaped the thin line of his mouth were terse and I barely made them out. "Twentieth-century pedestrian ramblings with no capitalization -- written by a cockroach, no less -- to explain the words of a celebrated seventeenth-century poet? Hardly the stuff of a defensible thesis.

"Maybe we can come up with something else together."

I didn't need to come up with something "together"!

He might as well have told me again, _"You don't know anything."_

Nothing had ever _really_ changed, had it? He still felt that way and _saying_ he regretted his actions didn't make the words true.

Being careful of my tone, and trying to keep things light, I said evenly, "That's what I have. When you have a better idea, we'll hold it up to the light…you're not holding out an idea on me, are you?"

He wasn't getting under my skin so easily.

He mumbled something and I pointedly got back to work.

The rest of the afternoon, I withdrew from Edward. I'd let him melt away my resolve to keep him at arm's length and the subsequent nip had reminded me why I'd constructed my boundaries to begin with.

We resumed our letter-reading and note writing in silence. He asked me a question or two and I answered as efficiently I could. By the end of the afternoon, I believed he was asking me questions I couldn't answer yes or no to simply make me quit replying in monosyllables.

It was probably for the better. Our unreal interaction when he put me to bed the night before didn't make sense in the light of day. Nothing about him wanting me around in the light of day made sense. We were so different. We disagreed at every turn. He took himself -- he took _everything_ -- so seriously. There was no air around him, he'd vacuum-sealed himself off from me and there was just no wiggle room.

No room for me, period.

* * *

The drive home was equally painful. The classical piano that I'd found so soothing the day before simply served to piss me off as we zipped through traffic.

His perfect car and pretentious music and designer clothes that fit him just so…_hmph!_ Even being hot couldn't bail him out -- it just made me more angry.

A pitiful actress, my performance for the rest of the afternoon didn't fool him.

Twice, he looked as if he might try to say something to address it but, both times, his phone saved me from having to chew him up and spit him out. _Just make it through the next few weeks, Bella…you need his letters to back up your speculation._

When we pulled in front of my building, I practically jumped out of the door before we came to a full stop in my effort to escape the oppressive car.

Not to be denied one last chance to irritate me, Edward insisted on carrying my armload of books to my door.

He had the good sense to keep his mouth shut beyond "thank you" and "goodnight".

Alone inside, I pressed my ear against the front door to my flat. Once I could no longer hear the retreating footsteps, I leaned my back against the door and melted into a crouch in the floor, my forehead cradled in my palms.

No longer under his spell…no.

No longer under his thumb, I could breathe.

Frames of the last thirty-six hours randomly flitted through my head; already I was having a hard time nailing the events onto a timeline. The drama combined with a late night were catching up with me.

I slid the skirt and boots off, stepped into pajama bottoms and turned on the electric kettle -- proof in itself that, even if I hadn't spent every night in a different pub, I had been affected by living in England. I'd never seen an electric kettle before I moved here.

Looking down at my cozy mug of tea and cheery plaid pajamas about half an hour later, I was suddenly ashamed of myself.

Why was I abiding by this self-imposed restriction? I wasn't sixteen.

Studying in London was of no use if I were acting like I was studying in Forks. Live a little, Bella. Act your age, not the age of your middle-aged instincts.

Andrew had given me his number weeks ago and asked me to coffee just a couple days ago. _Take him up on it, Bella._

* * *

Andrew already had plans to hit a pub with a few other students, but none of them minded me tagging along. Or so they said. He gave me the name of the establishment and the Tube stop to help me along.

I threw on jeans and boots with Alice's camisole and sweater combo that I hadn't taken off yet. I grabbed a coat and hit the door before I could change my mind.

I'd ventured outside of my flat enough to buy groceries and grab some takeout. Finding the Copeland's town house was no longer intimidating. But, I was moving in on having been here seven months and I was getting something akin to cabin fever from the track I'd limited myself to. A night out every now and then was healthy.

Dammit.

Why did I keep having to remind myself of that fact?

Going out with Ben and Angela and other students in Washington hadn't been a big deal. We hit film festivals, museums, restaurants, karaoke bars, pool halls -- all the college hotspots.

Had the deadly combination of social events and strangers in a foreign country done me in?

No.

I was afraid of coming face-to-face with my nightmare again.

My nightmares were an ocean away -- I hadn't had one since I moved to London. I'd had to take up stalking Edward in trade but, really, I was hardly going to complain about that.

Hairy monsters or beautiful research partner? Not a difficult decision.

I exited the tube at Aldgate and found the Still and Star with no problem. It was a quintessential British pub -- unpretentious and dimly lit with sausage rolls being nibbled at practically every table. I was immediately glad I came and worked my way over to the group Andrew was part of.

A couple of the faces I recognized from class, though I didn't know names that went with them. Only two faces apart from Andrew's already had names that I knew -- Vivienne and Phoebe. The other six were new.

He'd said a _few _on the phone.

I hadn't made eye contact with anyone when I snuck in, so I was surprised when Andrew had a stool waiting for me by the time I edged over to the table.

"You made it! I grabbed you a stool; they're in short supply here. Everyone, this is Bella -- the American girl I was talking about."

Introductions were made to the new faces and Phoebe held her hand out to shake mine.

Vivenne cocked a perfectly plucked brow and said, "'Alo, Bella. I didn't know you would be with us tonight. A surprise, non?"

"Yes, a surprise. I hadn't expected to be here." I smiled and left it at that. I hope you enjoy disappointment.

_Yes, I borrowed your line. Now, go away, jackass._

The process of ordering and nursing a drink helped keep me from feeling out of place. The drink itself didn't hurt. Someone ordered me a Hopback Crop Circle simply because I'd asked what they were drinking.

From that response I gathered that the local boys were all about American girls talking less and drinking more. I said as much to Phoebe at the very moment the table's conversation hit a lull.

My volume was only appropriate against a roar; in the silence it rung out like the death knell of my infant social life.

Every eye at the table was on me -- Vivienne sported a pouty smirk at my _faux pas_.

The beer-ordering guy laughed until he had to wipe tears from his eyes.

I chuckled in relief and shook my head as he hailed the server -- the award for making him cry in public was another beer.

We sat around and chatted with no awkwardness for at least two hours. I wasn't already mentally planning my next outing with them by the time we left but I could see myself doing it again.

Knowing I had another early start, I said my good-byes and headed for the tube.

* * *

Twenty minutes after I left the pub, I was thoroughly turned around and wishing I'd taken someone up on the offer of an escort -- and turned down that last beer. The dangers of being alone on a London street suddenly outweighed those of being alone at night with a harmless grad student. Who might possibly be armed with some Keats…_terrifying, Bella_.

I could hear strains of female laughter drifting towards me from behind, egged on by the good-natured, lower tones of male voices. The mixed group was a relief and I let them gain on me, thinking I'd ask them for directions.

I leaned over and pretended to fiddle with my boot to buy more time.

A girl's voice piped up. "Those Sergio Rossi boots are _hot_! Where'd you get them?"

"Umm, they're borr--" I narrowed my eyes at the familiar voice. "Alice!"

My shock earned a few polite chuckles from the other Cullens and a booming laugh from Emmett. "You should have seen your face! You really didn't hear the little megaphone here? She's been entertaining anyone within a two block radius for a while now."

"No, I really didn't hear you that well. What are you all doing?" And I did mean _all_. Emmett had Rose draped over his arm, Alice played with Jasper's hand and Edward stood awkwardly between the four of them.

Alice said, "Rose, it's your show…."

There was no change in her inflection, no excitement for the outing she was apparently responsible for. "We're going to the graveyard."

I wasn't sure what the polite response to that was. "Oh. Um. What for?"

Alice rolled her eyes. "God, Rose. We're going to a very _specific _cemetery. There's one near the new house and we started realizing how old some of the graves were and how many of the headstones were for famous writers, politicians, musicians, actors. So, our goal now is to check out all the ones that have people we would like to have met."

Emmett spoke up. "Tonight, we are Bunhill bound."

I bit. This was fascinating even if it was macabre. The beautiful Cullens in ancient, dirty cemeteries? "Who's in that one?"

Alice looked pointedly at Edward, as if she were waiting on him to spill. He practically purred, "You'll love this one. We'll keep it a surprise."

Till when? I wasn't so sure I wanted to tag along.

Rose practically growled. "That's not why I'm going."

_And, another reason to stay behind…._

The moment Edward addressed me, my back was up. I reminded myself that I was not letting him get under my skin but the idea wrapping my hands around his throat was so appealing at that moment.

My hands opened and closed involuntarily at my sides.

I took a deep breath to reset my thought process and, when I opened my eyes, I could have sworn that Jasper _winked_ at me. Baffling.

Alice walked over and put an arm around my waist as the others walked towards the cars. "Go easy on him, Bella. Just come with us, please -- you'll get along. He's a great tour guide, if nothing else, and we'll take you home the moment you want to go."

* * *

_**Author's Note:**_ The original draft of this chapter was without any contribution of my own verse. SR, you upped the ante and I am ponying up to the table -- _Maker's Mark, neat, and deal me in._ These verses are here solely because you said there should be more such inclusions...so "Fatal Pull" is yours to do with as you see fit.

The second poem, "the lesson of the moth" is profoundly touching to me, very _carpe diem _for all its fatalistic implications, and was indeed written as if by a cockroach. Please read it in its entirety...and then go want something as badly as archy. ./~

I have new readers this week and I couldn't be more thrilled. Wow. Just _WOW! _I love all the fresh voices -- comments are the best part of doing this. Please leave one.

Danni, you pushed on this. I so love that.

Clem, thanks for keeping me from nibbling on the lights. _Be more constructive with your feedback, please._

Thread slores -- you ladies keep me on my toes and make me giggle regularly. Naked hugs all around!


	8. Chapter Seven

_**Disclaimer: **__The Twilight Saga and its characters belong to Stephenie Meyer._

* * *

The Cullens didn't "do the tube" according to Rose. With vehicles like theirs, I saw no need either.

As we approached the cars, I heard a chorus of competing voices -- who had to ride together, which car had XM, would either car hold all six of us -- and I quietly slid in to the back seat of the car Rosalie wasn't driving. All I made out was that Alice couldn't part with Jasper and Jasper and Emmett were insistent on listening to American college football on satellite radio. The shuffle happened so quickly that I ended up sitting alone in the back passenger seat of Edward's car as the other four were pulling away.

He smirked. "I won't bite."

_So you say…. _"No one else is riding with us?"

"They are, um…inseparable."

_Ahhh_. For an instant, I found myself in Edward's usually-enviable shoes and it actually tugged at my heart.

How had I never noticed in Forks? Was it because, collectively, they looked like a J. Crew ad? Was it because, together, they had the effect of a color wheel of human perfection -- each a different shade of just so -- and I'd never thought to see them the way they'd paired themselves off?

I'd always seen them _en masse_, as a single unit, never as couples separate from the whole. Even though I knew the other four were _together_ since my first day at Forks High, I'd never thought about what it would be like to be the one without someone.

The one apart.

Alice and Jasper were clearly bound tightly, muscle and sinew stretched over the same frame, twisted to the point that where one ended and the other began were indiscernible. Two parts of the same whole, eternally performing their portion without having to ask if the other would know what to do. They weren't overt in their mutual worship.

And, if Alice and Jasper's communion occurred in an intimate chapel, Emmett and Rosalie's happened in St. Paul's cathedral -- trumpets and stained glass and pomp and circumstance. With paparazzi in attendance. While it was clearly vital to her that Emmett have eyes for her and only her, Rosalie seemed to require the combined attendance of each and every male whose orbit neared her own.

She attacked every day with the determination of Scarlett O'Hara at the Wilkes' barbeque. Fortunately, the apple of her eye had the good sense to mean it when he told her she "cut her teeth" on his heart.

Just the thought of keeping up with her and Emmett exhausted me -- I couldn't imagine it in combination with trailing behind Alice and Jasper and even Carlisle and Esme. He wasn't even a third wheel.

He was the _seventh_ wheel.

He and Jake had something in common -- though I doubted Jacob would want to hear about it -- and the thought almost made me laugh aloud. All those perfectly suited couples and their constant public displays of affection wore thin pretty quickly in La Push as well.

Jake and I dated for a torturous semester my freshman year at UW. Though he was such a quintessential guy in some ways -- he wanted to fix every shimmy in every car he rode in, football on Saturday was not optional, all meals required meat of some sort, and he thought jeans were dress clothes -- he had this overly-romanticized view of what we should be like as a couple.

Apparently, we didn't live up to it.

At first, things were so simple. He made sure I was always taken care of and happy. On my weekends home, we hung out like we always had, we were just a little more affectionate. As beautiful and eternally warm as Jake was, being physical with him was easy.

So easy in fact that we had the conversation about slowing down before things got, um, out of hand…_and he was all for it_.

I should've known something was wrong then and there.

All velvet and honey, Edward interrupted my internal tangent by asking politely, "Are you sure you want to go with us? You seem like your mind is not on…the dead."

"No. It is…well, it's not on the dead, exactly. But, it is here with you guys. I was just thinking of something uncomfortable and I don't really know why…." I shook my head, trying to shake the awkward memories away as well.

He looked intrigued even if he was uncertain. "Is this my cue to ask if you want to talk about it or to change the subject?"

I smiled. "You probably don't really want to know."

"Bella, I have learned only one thing about any conversation I have with you. Whatever instinct I have is inevitably off-base. I was initially thinking of changing the subject -- talking about the awful bar Alice and Rosalie made us go to this evening before we ran into you -- which means that I am going to have to ask you about your uncomfortable memory."

"Are you sure?" Caution lights were blinking in my head, warning me about the territory we were entering.

A light came on for Edward as well, though of a different sort. "You didn't mean uncomfortable for you, did you?"

"Kind of. And then, kind of not…I was thinking about both of us. And my friend, Jacob Black. Do you know Jacob?"

"Barely. I know his family better." As if preparing himself for the uncomfortable part of this exchange, Edward clenched his jaw and exhaled.

"Yeah, he said you did."

"So, what about the three of us would make you uncomfortable?" Surprisingly, Edward was driving conscientiously, hands at ten and two, both eyes on the road. Did he know where this was going?

Was it too late to back out of telling him?

"It's too late to lose your nerve now, Bella. I've made an ass of myself publicly -- and groveled as a result. Don't think you need to spare my feelings -- you owe me a couple I think. And as far as embarrassing yourself goes, well…I think I might have set that bar pretty high as well."

He reconsidered and amended with a huff, "Or low, I guess. Depending on how you look at it."

"Alice and Jasper…Emmett and Rose…Carlisle and Esme…you guys were a single unit in my mind until tonight. And now you're not -- you're…"

"Three couples. And me."

"Exactly. I was thinking about how things are always that way for Jake, too. All the kids he grew up with, all his friends, have these incredibly solid marriages. Disgustingly perfect, actually. And Jake is always the odd man out. Well, he and Leah are the only ones without significant others, but they almost hate each other. Seeing you as the seventh wheel thrown into a car with me simply because I'm the only other person not paired off made me think of the two of them -- being thrown together but barely tolerating one another."

Edward sighed with obvious frustration.

"Bella. I'm not doing anything I don't want to be doing. I've told you that before -- I'm not sure what I have to do to prove it to you. If I hadn't been so awful to you today at the Copeland's I would've asked you to do something fun this evening. I think we both need some diversion."

I shook my head and smirked knowingly. His discomfort around me was so patently obvious that I felt as if even I were in on the joke. "Edward. It's okay. You don't have to treat me like a charity case just because I'm here all alone and you're just starting to get settled. I know we rub one another the wrong way -- you don't have to keep doing something that irritates you. Your apology at the library was sweet and I believe that you meant it. You don't have to keep doing penance to prove it."

He squeezed the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger -- a habit I'd come to believe resulted solely from his acquaintance with me -- and when he took his hand away the familiar little notch was between his brows.

I mumbled, "You can just drop me off at the next tube stop. It's not a big deal."

His phone chirped. He sighed in irritation, at me I assumed, and pulled effortlessly into a Vespa-sized parking spot.

Before he slid out of the car, he pressed a folded up sheet of paper into my hand.

"Just give me a second -- don't try to run off, I'll only come find you." He sent a quick text to someone and I got the feeling he was telling the others he'd be delayed long enough to see me to the tube. I'd known better than to think he'd let me try to find it on my own at night even before he asked me to hold on.

I found the cabin light and read the words written in his font-worthy script.

_*_

_I won't make you regret being my friend._

_I didn't touch your skin because I was afraid the exchange would be permanently seared in my memory._

_And it is._

_~EAC_

_*_

He did the gestures with such flourish; I just wasn't sure what to make of this one. Our "exchange" was certainly memorable, charged…and undeniably sexy. And he kept his promise -- he wrote it down.

I was so confused.

I folded the paper back up and slid it into my jacket pocket. I could deal with it at home.

He got out of the car and walked around to open my door. "Walk with me for a second. You can leave your purse, we'll come back."

We walked silently to a park across the street and towards a damp bench. I realized Edward had a blanket under his arm and he put it down on the seat.

Quietly, sweetly, he said, "Have a seat."

I sat obediently, expectantly.

It was a good thing I had; he didn't give me a chance before he spoke. "Bella, I don't dislike you. I'm not 'tolerating' you and I would never be so condescending as to take you out because I felt sorry for you."

My response wasn't even something I had to consider; it was simply the truth bubbling its way up to the surface. "Whatever the reason, can we stop doing this? For years -- though, admittedly, there's been quite a gap until recently -- you've shown up only when I am about to have some minor disaster occur." He looked at me reprovingly so I allowed, "Some weren't exactly minor. I'm not here to categorize my blunders.

"I can't handle the ups and downs of your moods. I'd rather fall and cut my hand or skin my knee than walk around with all the invisible wounds you leave when you're short with me later -- because you will be.

"I just want to set you free, cut you loose, let you off the hook. Whatever. Just stop hanging around because you think I need a savior.

"Because I don't…maybe I do. Even if I do, I won't continue to be your charity project at the expense of my wounded feelings." I said more than I'd meant to -- I always did where he was concerned.

He closed his eyes and took in a deep breath. "That car was claustrophobic." His non-sequitur made me mad and I glared at him. _Was he even going to pretend to listen to me?_

"Arguing with you in an enclosed space is more than I can handle -- no one, not even Alice, is as efficient as you when it comes to hitting all my hot buttons." He smiled at me and looked me directly in the eye. "I can read everyone else like the pages of an open book. You, I cannot -- not ever. You throw me off balance and I'm not used to being anything but perfectly in control.

"When I get irritated, it's never at you. Never. I get mad because you catch every misstep, you call me on every bit of falsehood I try to pass off.

"So, I'm done being dishonest with you. I am done using deception to try and keep you out of trouble -- and, make no mistake, Miss Swan, keeping you out of trouble is a full time job. You know when I'm hiding something and it clearly makes you angry and wounds your feelings. I will try with all my might not to do it again."

I sighed. Repentance was so gorgeous on him. He looked like an angel asking what his next mission would be.

It was too bad that speech didn't mean anything.

I wasn't angry that he lied -- that he continued to lie to me, after all these years -- I was mad at him for being such a prick in the library today and how that boded ill for our interactions in the long run. His condescension wasn't going away overnight and I didn't have the energy to do these little scenes with him every time he got caught being a jackass.

"That's fine. Thanks for that…I guess."

"In the library today, I suggested you go another direction with your moth theories because I think you're onto something."

Petty academic jealousy? Not bloody likely. "Edward, I don't have the energy to do this with you. I'm sure you have your reasons for whatever you do, you're a smart boy. Can we just cut to the chase here? You don't like me much. I have letters you need. You have letters I need. We have an arrangement. We already shook on it; I won't back out and you don't have to string me along to keep me around. Just let me go home and nurse my embarrassment in peace."

I was pissed. My face was flushed and I loosened my scarf so I could breathe. No matter how irritated I was, I wasn't going to stomp off into the darkness in a strange part of town. That _would _be the crown jewel on my evening.

My hair spilled out from underneath my scarf when I moved it and hung in front of my face. Edward leaned over and tucked it neatly back behind my ears -- a gesture I was familiar with even if it hadn't occurred during waking hours. While his forefingers held my hair behind my ears, his thumbs brushed across my cheekbones, from the bridge of my nose out.

The electrically-charged tingle from them made me half-expect to see a trail of blue sparks marking their path. His intense stare locked me into place.

I was a bird locked in the snake's stare.

His resolve to keep me at arm's length wavered and, for a moment, I could see behind the curtain.

What I wouldn't give to hear it rent it two…the echoing rip of the fabric that separated him from the rest of us, from me…the grim satisfaction of destroying something restrictive.

"I can't spill all my secrets to you. But I know you recognize every inconsistency -- I have this pang of pleasure mixed with pain every time you do. Can it just be enough right now for me to say that there is nothing I want more than you--" He faltered and put his chin to his chest.

"There's nothing you want more than what?" I swore I heard a tiny tear, the actual shredding of fabric.

Edward's lovely fingers were ripping the blanket between us on the bench. He held a tiny fold in each hand and was holding it with such unconscious force that he was separating the two halves.

"There's nothing I want more than for you to know…everything. Can we just do this like normal people? I surrender -- I won't try to keep you from the truth."

"Do _what_ like normal people? Normal people just tell the truth."

"I happen to be an expert on the subject and that is certainly not the case."

"What makes you such an expert on the truth?"

"I am good at reading people -- everyone but _you_. And while you seem all but incapable of lying, that isn't the case for the rest of the world. You are entirely unique."

I took a quick breath and blurted out my thought before I could change my mind. "I think I already knew that."

When he voiced his question his tone was surprisingly even. "Knew what?"

I tried phrase my reply carefully, being as open-ended as I could to prevent a slippery response from him. "That you could…read people."

"Intuition is a talent many people possess." _That isn't exactly a "no"._

Airing out my theories was embarrassing. What if I was wrong? My liquid courage from the pub was serving me well now. "Not intuition. Something more than that. I think that's how you knew to come save me from Tyler Crowley's van. There wasn't time for anyone to shout, you just _knew_. And, when Mike was dragging me to the nurse's office from Biology -- you weren't in class but _you knew_. And, every time you caught me or broke my fall, I never saw you before I felt you there."

He wore the same expression as when he let me stroke his forearm, as if he were enjoying something he shouldn't. "Well, I had some help; I can't take all the credit. I wasn't kidding -- keeping you out of trouble is an around the clock occupation."

"But it's more than just knowing where or when. I could have known what was going to happen to me and not been able to fix it. You're so strong and fast and disarmingly beautiful…it's more than just that you can read my mind."

"I can't read your mind, Bella." The cheek he possessed was limitless.

Shaking my head, I leaned forward to stand up. I was tired of letting him toy with me. "You said we weren't going to do this. I'm sure you knew I was going to say it before I said it aloud -- and now I'm mortified realizing all the other things you must have seen me thinking, like th--" He put a hand on my arm to slow me down and I tried to shake it off.

"Stop, Bella. Before you hate me for hearing something you don't want me to know. I can't hear your thoughts."

I practically growled at him. "I'm not playing this game with you -- just because I don't phrase my answer in the form of a question doesn't mean I'm incorrect."

He murmured, "You're _not _incorrect…I can hear everyone's thoughts _but_ yours."

It would explain our problems communicating if I didn't communicate with him in the same way the rest of the world did. "Really? Just me? I'm the weirdo. Why is that not a surprise? My brain is missing the broadcast feature." So much about that made sense.

"Oh, Bella -- I tell you I can read minds and you think something's wrong with _you_. You're not missing anything -- you are exactly as you should be. I don't know why I can't hear you, but I can't. And as much as not knowing what you're thinking drives me to distraction, there are times when I like it that way -- being able to give you some privacy, even if it is inconvenient."

I wondered if there were case-by-case exceptions to my mental silence. Like, what if I really _yelled_ my thoughts, concentrated on making him pay attention to me, could he get a whisper of something then?

Rather than find that out the hard way, I thought about testing him, finding out for sure how silent my mind was.

"I definitely like it that way. So, right now," I imagined something as compromising and provocative as I could muster on such short notice -- me straddling his lap. I sucked in a breath at the mental image.

I looked up -- his face hadn't changed yet so I mentally rounded first base. My hands tangled in his hair and my mouth moved slowly, determinedly on his -- still nothing from Edward -- and then not, but instead slowly nibbling my way up his jaw line towards that soft bit of real estate behind the square of his jaw, under his ear and then, finally, back to his mouth with a ferocity reserved for good-bye…,"_that_ is still my secret?"

Surely he couldn't pretend to be oblivious to that, could he?

_Oh, God, could he?_

"Well, your heart is pounding -- I'm guessing because you were thinking of something that should push my buttons -- your cheeks are a lovely shade of pink and you're chewing on your bottom lip. Aside from those tells, I have no idea what you were thinking about."

I might as well have spelled it out for him -- it must be so obvious now.

I let out a deep breath of resignation and he started laughing.

"Wow. You must've gone all in one that one. Did you kill me quietly or run me down on a public street?"

Surprised, I stammered, "Um. Neither. We know a car wouldn't survive a run in with you and I wouldn't begin to know a quiet way to murder someone. Besides which fact, it's no use for me to have some secrets if I just tell them when you ask."

"Fair enough. Just tell me one thing -- was it a good secret or an evil one?"

"Mostly good. Maybe a touch of evil." I sucked on my bottom lip nervously and let go of it when I remembered that he recognized it as a tell.

He examined my face, plotting his next words. I could practically hear the gears turning behind his beautiful face._ Oh, to know what he was thinking…._

"How about a trade?"

"What do you have in mind?" A trade implied I'd be parting with something…I slowed things down.

I rephrased. "First, what do you want?" My bank account was practically nonexistent, not that he needed money. I'd already given him letters. I hadn't bothered to hide any of my theories from him. The only thing I had that he didn't was a womb.

I laughed out loud.

"Now you're just doing that to irritate me."

_From here on out, I will be…._

"I wasn't, I swear. Now I might, but I really wasn't. I'm just having a hard time imagining what I have that you want. You have _everything_ and anything you don't already possess is but a smoldering stare or a quick mind read away. Bargaining with _me_ is kind of funny, you have to admit."

"I can see how you might think so. But it's really not. So can we arrange a trade?"

"You still haven't told me what I'm going to have to give up."

"Of course -- I will answer any one question you have tonight. But just one. There's only one question I won't answer so I will allow myself one veto. You can go first to make sure I'm not lying."

_So -- I couldn't just ask what his secret was…but I could ask for a clue if I…never mind._

"Edward. What am I parting with?"

"Tell me what you were thinking about when you tested me." Just as I thought.

"Oh, that's easy." He smiled triumphantly, no doubt anticipating my imminent capitulation. "Hell no."

Momentarily he looked confused; I laughed like a madwoman.

"I don't understand."

"There is no way in hell that I am going to tell you what inflammatory thing I was thinking to test you. No way. Thinking something and saying it out loud are two entirely different things. It was a test and it doesn't mean anything and I won't tell for love or money -- or supernatural secrets. I'll just have to figure you out on my own, without any shortcuts."

I heard Emmett's unmistakable laugh.

"You two could wake the dead. Come on. We'll be meeting them at the Pearly Gates if we have to wait on you two."

Edward mumbled, "Don't count on it."

* * *

Bunhill Fields was a cemetery for dissenters to the Church of England because it had never been consecrated. The graves were poorly organized and so the markers were close to the final resting place of the person they memorialized but the exact spots were lost.

The grounds were now a park and only some of the sites were fenced off.

And somewhere in this rambling green space were the other Cullens. For the life of me, I couldn't see them.

"They're right here," Emmett insisted.

Edward laughed softly beside me. "This is a ritual I am going to have to forego, I think. I don't even have words for how disrespectful this is."

As he walked past me, Emmett said to Edward, "It's not disrespectful. You know why she's here."

I still didn't see them. My eyesight wasn't bad, but theirs was clearly better.

I heard Alice's delicate giggle. "Don't step on me, Bella. I like those boots a lot -- I'd be so upset if you fell and broke a heel."

Straight down, Alice was stretched out in front of a marker, holding hands with Jasper. Ethereally gorgeous Rose was a few stones over, unnaturally still in front of someone else's name, her golden hair a halo, with Emmett in the process of lying down on her left.

"I don't get it."

The only explanation I received was Alice's, "Go look at Rose's headstone. That will help." I squatted down at her head and read the marker. Most of the writing was eroded enough to be invisible at night, but the name was legible.

It almost _was_ Rose's headstone.

_Roslyn Hale 1668 - 1692_

_*_

The headstone to her left was for Myles Hale and to her right was Catharine Roslyn. Catharine was born in 1692.

"Wow. She was your age, too. Is this what you came here for?"

I was shocked when Rose addressed Edward and then me. She was usually so surly to me. "It's not disrespectful, Edward; it's romantic.

"And, yes, this is why I came.

"This couple had a finite amount of years, fewer than most people got in their day, even. But, they lived them together, by the values they were raised with. She even died bringing their child into the world so that her existence meant something. Life is such a gamble for…for all of us. And, now, they get to spend eternity side by side. Resting right here together. What more can you ask for than to love someone enough to live and make babies and then die lucky enough to know they felt the same way about you?

"All the rest is just extra. Look around -- you certainly don't get to take anything but them with you."

She was talking to me but her eyes never strayed from Emmett's.

Gone was any trace of the showiness I'd remembered earlier.

I teared up a little as she spoke so I turned my face from the two of them and away from Edward. I didn't want him to see my tears. If he asked me why I was crying, I couldn't even tell him -- I suddenly felt very out of place.

How did Edward dwell in the same house as that reverence and go to bed alone each night? He couldn't even be snarky about that, it was just too earnest.

My chest felt suddenly heavy and a sigh escaped my parted lips. I swallowed and felt a tear drop from my jaw to my collarbone.

Edward put his hand at the small of my back and whispered in my ear, "I'll show you what I came for." When he leaned down, he must have noticed that I was crying. He put his cool hand on my chin and turned my face toward his.

I imagined the sweet satisfaction of ripping down the thick veil of secrecy between us -- right then. Even better, I wanted to tell him that I just didn't give a damn. _Keep your secret, it doesn't change who you are._

I felt the smallness, the disorientation of being the lone speck bobbing in a vast ocean. If no one knew I existed, did I?

But he knew, he seemed incredibly aware of that fact -- and he proved it.

He placed his forefinger at one corner of my jaw and traced the curve of my chin back to the other corner of my jaw. It glistened with moisture; he brought it to his mouth sideways and kissed the tears on it.

The he lifted my downcast face and, placing his lips to the apple of my cheek, he kissed the teardrop that hadn't fallen off yet. He licked the salty moisture from his lips slowly and put his forehead to mine. "I would spend my portion on the earth trying to make those unnecessary. That's the best I can do in the meantime."

His eyes were warm even under the dim street lights. My resolve to keep him a safe distance away washed back out to sea.

I didn't have the words to respond to his declaration so I closed my eyes and let his sweet breath anoint my face.

Why? Why would he care so much about my happiness? I turned the idea over in my head, looking over the unfamiliar object from every vantage. From some angles, it just didn't make sense. But from others it just _did_.

Tears swelled over my bottom lid. He smiled apologetically and dabbed them with my scarf.

I could already feel myself tangling into him. Tangling implied such messy business and I realized with almost no fanfare that I was strangely okay with that.

I turned to follow him towards the dead man he wanted to meet.

We didn't walk too many more steps up the footpath before stopping in front of an unassuming marker. Edward looked at it for a moment so I assumed it was our destination. Still smiling that sweet, sad smile, he said, "It doesn't seem possible to me that a creature as priceless, as delicate as you, had the same Designer I did. I think he might have agreed." He nodded at the stone and then quoted,

_*_

_"'When the stars threw down their spear_

_And water'd heaven with their tears:_

_Did he smile his work to see_

_Did he who made the Lamb make thee! _

_*_

_Tyger Tyger burning bright,_

_In the forests of the night:_

_What immortal hand or eye,_

_Dare frame thy fearful symmetry!'"_

_*_

When had I first read that poem? Was I fourteen -- a freshman still living in Arizona? It was William Blake's "Tyger" -- a study of the origin of good and evil.

I smiled at him insinuating anew that he might be something sinister. "You're Blake's 'Tyger'? Really, Edward?"

"Not the very one, but I think he might have used me as an illustration to make his point."

His finger was probably still wet with my tears -- he would have to choose another night to sell me this story. "I don't think you are the menace you believe yourself to be. I've been grateful for your 'dread grasp' on more than one occasion."

He closed his eyes and bowed his head. "Oh, Bella. You'll figure this out and you'll run. And when you do I will say a prayer of thanks, my first in ages."

"There you go again with the good-byes. I can't think of anything that would make me _run_ except you chasing me away."

He started to say something and stopped himself. I wanted to ask but I knew what I had to tell in exchange for an answered question -- a stand-off.

I had a better question, anyway. Asking here wouldn't do me any good.

Knowing something concrete could result in my trade, the value of what he offered rose dramatically.

"You're considering my exchange, aren't you?" He smiled wickedly; he could change direction on a dime.

My cheeks burned and I realized I wanted something enough to tell him _that_. The only question that remained was _could I follow through? _

"Yes." _At least pretend to hold out, Bella._

He eyed me warily. "Yes, you're considering it or yes, we have an accord?"

"Yes, Mr. Cullen, you have a deal." _Pirates and ambassadors have "accords"._

He practically smacked his lips. "Okay, go ahead."

Not in front of Blake…I didn't think that his heart -- no matter how dead -- could handle it. "If it's alright, I'd like to do this somewhere other than a cemetery. Is that okay?"

"Certainly. I've paid my respects to Mr. Blake. What about you?"

"I'll pay my respects by taking his advice."

His tone sounded like a warning. "I can think of a few things he'd like you to take up that I could agree with -- and I'm _very_ interested in hearing your thoughts on applying the advice of such a pious man in a modern world…"

Again with the cautionary bit. "If you wouldn't mind driving me home, I'd like to start with 'cherish pity, lest you drive an angel from your door'."

"He didn't come up with that on his own, you know."

_Such a know-it-all…._

* * *

Edward walked me to my flat and, clearly, had every intention of leaving me there.

"You're not backing out, are you? I haven't gotten my question yet."

He said stiffly, "If you'd prefer to wait until in the morning, I will meet you as early as you'd like. I can certainly wait that long. I know you live alone and I don't want to impose."

My nerve -- plus three beers and the energy drink Alice gave me -- would be long gone by then. "Come inside, Edward. Your intentions are just as noble as mine, I'm sure. I just didn't want to do this with your family around. Not that I don't like them…."

"You don't have to justify it to me -- there are certainly no secrets at that house."

"So you hear their thoughts all…_oh_." My eyes widened at the implication.

"I'm getting pretty talented at finding reasons to be gone in the evening." He smiled as if there were an even better reason than _that _to be away from his home at night.

I nodded in understanding at the first part -- I definitely didn't want to dwell on it.

We walked to my tiny sitting area. I gestured to the room at large. "This is the library, living room, TV room and dining room. My room is through that door and the bathroom is through the kitchen. That's the grand tour."

He sat on the edge of the couch while I turned both my lamps on, suddenly wishing I had brighter bulbs in them. I plopped down on the chair and asked, "So, do you still have a question?"

"I do but I don't feel right about asking first -- are you _sure_ it will be okay? I don't want you to feel cornered or like I'm taking advantage of you."

"You absolutely are not taking advantage of me. If this goes well, I might not even have to ask mine."

He looked afraid and…hopeful.

I had to look away from him, just for a second, to gather my nerve. My heart was already pounding, I could hear the _whoosh_ of blood behind my ears. I could only imagine the shades of crimson and violet streaked from my collarbone to my hairline.

I still wasn't sure if I could do it.

He eyed me hesitantly.

I sat on my hands so he wouldn't see that I couldn't stop them from shaking. A rolling wave of nausea made me close my eyes and take a deep cleansing breath.

_Open your eyes, Bella. You'll only get one shot at this before he knows what you're doing…concentrate…don't think about anything but him._

I opened my eyes and nodded at him. My mouth was parched and I barely got out a throaty, "Ask me."

We both knew what his question would be but he eyed me warily, as if he knew there would be a catch. "Okay. On the park bench, what inflammatory thing were you thinking?"

I swallowed and fought the urge to close my eyes. This was a total waste if I didn't watch him. I had just one chance.

Looking him squarely in his topaz eyes, I lowered my voice and spoke slowly. "On the bench, I imagined me, straddling your lap…."

Already it was working. _I can probably stop -- I should probably stop. _

"…one knee on either side of your hips."

_Enough, Bella._

"My warm mouth was on your cold, sweet one…."

I watched him exhale and his chest abruptly stilled.

"…and my hand knotted in your hair while I kissed you…."

_Stop, Bella. He's not breathing_.

"…like I might never get the chance to again."

His eyes snapped shut a moment too late -- I had already seen that they were as black as midnight.

* * *

**London, 1688**

William had been so pleased with Sophie's response that he penned a note to her as we waited in his library for the others to arrive that evening.

I hovered across the room as William wrote, feigning interest in a poorly researched treatise on the human heart. Even by the dim lamplight I could see his words as clearly as if I were writing them myself in the midday sun.

_October 1, 1688_

_My dear Sophia,_

_I am, as ever, delighted to hear from you. _

_Paris is such a lovely diversion, I hope you are truly enjoying yourself and not leading an old man to believe something for the sole purpose of putting his mind at ease. While I am comforted to know you are well taken care of, I miss you most acutely tonight. I am preparing for our weekly gathering and miss your attention to detail. Left to my own devices, we might be eating the rind of my last bit of cheese and stale bread. Mr. Alton's wife has very generously offered to send a pudding and Mr. Cullen is decanting the wine as I write these words. I will be requiring an extra servant if you plan on lingering across the Channel; I am utterly lost without your gentle guidance, a piece of insight I am only now acquiring. A product of your discretion or am I losing my mental abilities at such an early age?_

_I can delay it no longer. Your use of verse to describe your recent emotions has stirred in me a sense of wonder at this unexplored talent of yours._

_Have you written poetry before, darling? I've not read any verses you penned before these so forgive my eagerness if this is not new to you. I've always encouraged you to write something beyond your beautifully articulated treatises and essays and thought my words were being dismissed. _

_How presumptuous of me to assume that they are a result of my incessant prodding! You are no weak-minded child. I will try to divest myself of such vanity before you return. I may, however, indulge it in your absence._

_Mr. Cullen sends his warm greetings and begs you to write more verses that he might read them as well. He was as enraptured as I when he read them moments ago. For all that you are more interested in your botanical pursuits and philosophie (a bit narcissistic, wouldn't you say?), my conviction is that you are a poetess of the highest order._

_You would be keeping company of the noblest kind and making art from your commentary on any subject you so choose to bless._

_I will end my ramblings here. Without your angelic presence, the halls here echo in emptiness. I am not alone in regretting your absence, Mr. Cullen asks of you daily._

_With my deepest regard,_

_Wm. _

"Is there anything you wish to add, Carlisle? Maybe to send a greeting or request some errand?"

I could think of nothing she would welcome and knew he'd sent my greetings anyway. "I am sure your letter is perfectly complete without any addition from me. I wouldn't trouble her by demanding her attention."

Her letter sat on the table beside his. She wrote it four days ago; I would have to wait at least eight days for a reply, by which time she could return or write more damning verses.

More could be on their way already. She didn't need a reply to write another letter to her closest living family member. I began a letter to her as soon as I could acceptably depart William's home.

* * *

_**A/N: **_Recently, my inbox has seen an unprecedented flurry of activity. I am outrageously grateful for all the new voices and insights and lovely comments (I was sorry to learn that the university library is not as conducive to romance as I'd written -- maybe they would consider adding a hearth or cashmere throws?). Whether you intended to or not, you're already making this story better. The party responsible is more than aware of what he's done -- he can expect photographic evidence of my indelibly inked affection in the next week or so (once the swelling abates).

To my co-conspirators and slores: Every girl should be so lucky as to have an entire crew of evil geniuses to consort with.

Danni, there was a ton to fix and you held my hand through every damned bit. People get medals for less.

Finally, I forgot how much I loved Blake until I tried to narrow down which snippets would make it into this chapter. And then I remembered that this story will have more chapters. Crisis averted.

This week, Edward quoted "The Tyger", a high school staple.

Please let me know what you think. I ignore my office phone to read and respond to reviews.


	9. Chapter Eight

_**Disclaimer: **The Twilight Saga and its characters belong to Stephenie Meyer_

_* * *_

* * *

After my heated confession, a long moment of silence passed. Each tick of the second hand stretched and swelled, heavily resonant with import.

I hung my head, suddenly ashamed of myself. I hated girls who went with shock value just to get a reaction from guys and yet here I was doing that very thing. Mortification and shame ignited my face.

What good was it to tease all of his secrets out of him if I wasn't even worth knowing them?

He quoted poetry and kissed my teardrop -- telling him how I wanted to straddle him just to get a desired reaction was no way to reciprocate. I wanted to apologize profusely and tell him that I really wasn't trying to be disrespectful…it had seemed like such a genius idea standing in front of Blake's grave.

Blake would turn over in his grave at the thought that he inspired me to talk semi-dirty. Gah!

Finally, I noticed Edward take in a shallow breath.

"That was certainly _inflammatory_…but I think I can breathe again safely."

My eyes were looking at my feet, the carpet, the coffee table; I couldn't meet his gaze again. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that just to get a reaction out of you. It was tacky of me and I'm mad at myself for being _that _girl."

He put his fingers under my chin with the gentlest upward pressure until I met his eyes -- molasses. "No. I asked for it -- and I didn't just ask. I insisted." He gathered himself before he added, "And, now you have a question, I believe. Although, I think I can guess where we're going without reading your thoughts."

He was being so nice about this -- too nice. The propriety of his polite response against the impropriety of my words made it that much worse -- orange juice after brushing my teeth. However much I wanted to back out, I was in far too deep for that.

I started with the easiest part. "When you're in a good mood, your eyes are light -- golden like honey or amber. And they were like that earlier; I saw them…in the car _and_ here. But, when you're easily irritated or on edge, they're darker, sometimes even black. Like now. Like the first day I met you in Biology. And like in your parent's library last night, when I…well, you were there. They were bright again the next morning."

He closed his eyes and shook his head, clearly irritated with himself. And mildly amused at his own stupidity. "I haven't heard a question…."

"I'm getting there…I was trying to figure out what the connection is. And then I remembered that when I wanted something from Charlie, I'd cook for him. Being fed put him in a much better mood."

The nerve that carried me through answering his question was long gone; he clearly wasn't going to help me. I swallowed thickly.

In a low voice, the lush almost-whisper of promises and secrets, he prompted me. "That's still not a question, Bella. What's your question?"

"I also remembered that when Sam pisses Jake off, if he's cranky or whatever, Jake always teases him that he, um…that he needs to get laid.

"When your eyes are dark," I swallowed noisily before continuing, "you're _hungry_." The last word was barely audible.

Edward was handling this so diplomatically. "I'm still not hearing a question…what do you want to know?" His voice dropped to a soft purr, "I can't answer if you don't ask."

I'd all but asked; he knew what I wanted. Why wouldn't he help me -- meet me half way? "If your eyes are dark, can it be either kind of…desire?"

The barest hint of a smile graced his features and left me speechless. "Yes. Either one."

Even though he wasn't going to tell me anything I didn't ask, he looked vaguely pleased that I'd discovered this on my own. Something else to ponder in my free time….

He looked at me appraisingly for a moment, like he wanted something. _Such a grasp on the obvious -- we've established that he wants something, Bella._

_He wants to _know_ something? _

"You said, when you were telling me what you were thinking on the bench, that the way you kissed me was as if you might never get the chance to _again_…I don't understand the addition of 'again'. I am more than certain I would remember the first one."

He was taking this so seriously that a chuckle escaped my lips -- an audible testament to the tension biting down on me.

"No, no. I was just thinking that you kiss someone differently when you know the chance might not present itself again. There would be that sort of 'now or never' edge to it, you know? I was…addressing the…_intensity_ of the moment." I was too embarrassed to be turned on.

_So, why am I turned on? _

For my own sanity, we had to stop dissecting this.

He nodded his understanding. "I see."

We sat in awkward, motionless silence for a few moments. It was so uncomfortable that I reconsidered my moratorium on discussing our imaginary make-out session. It might actually be better than the weird non-speaking drabble we were absorbed in -- separately -- inside our respective heads.

Edward finally said aloud, "I should let you get to sleep, it's very late. You're probably exhausted."

"I should be -- someone's kept me up past my bedtime two nights in a row -- but it'll take me a while to get sleepy. I'm kind of wired now." _Please, admit to him that you are too over-stimulated to sleep and contemplating a cold shower. That wouldn't make this evening more awkward at all._

He shook his head and smiled patronizingly. I deserved it; it didn't even hurt my feelings. "You're like a kid. Do you always fight sleep or do I make you that nervous? Wait -- don't answer that. I'd like you to keep that secret."

He turned my palm up and reclaimed my forearm -- _his _forearm -- just holding it in his hands. "I'm not leaving until I know you're going to sleep…what if you were planning on wandering the streets of London again? I couldn't have that on my already compromised conscience. The next strangers to happen upon you might not be so helpful." While he was still taking yet another opportunity to remind me of his own hazy wickedness, he was surprisingly light about it. I wasn't losing this chance to be around him at such an unguarded moment.

"I was fortunate you guys came along when you did but I would've found a tube station eventually. 'No blood, no foul' I think you said once."

"Oh, you're very funny. And, in retrospect, I think I overstated the matter. I was elated that no blood had been spilled but that in no way made the situation excusable. That could have gone…differently."

"Yes. And, thanks to you, it didn't. So I guess now you have a vested interest in my long, healthy existence."

His ironic half-smile smacked of self-condemnation.

What could he find in that comment to reprove himself for? I'd associated too much anger with the events of that day to think of it calmly until now. But, now that I did, I realized how seriously he meant his words at Bunhill. _I would spend my portion on the earth trying to make those unnecessary. _

As certainly as I owed my life to Charlie and Renee, I owed my breath since that day to Edward Cullen. "Tygers" don't prevent bloodshed; he couldn't be the villain he imagined himself to be.

He'd only used his strength and speed -- and probably his _other _talent -- in my defense, never to harm or even threaten me.

And here he was again, seeing me home safely.

My very own seraph -- the fastest angel. The most beautiful.

The mental image caused a grin to unfold. I was sitting sideways on my couch, facing him Indian-style, and he still held my forearm. The lines were out of my mouth before I could examine them.

"_I dreamt a dream! _

_What can it mean?_

_And that I was a maiden Queen_

_Guarded by an Angel mild:_

_Witless woe was ne'er beguiled!_

_-_

_And I wept both night and day,_

_And he wiped my tears away;_

_And I wept both day and night,_

_And hid from him my heart's delight_."

-

He considered my words but a second before he said, "Blake seems to have overtaken our evening. If he were still alive, I might have to call him out. Apart from that common theme, I'm not sure where you're going with this …."

I said simply, "You."

"Me?"

"You're my angel."

Only half his thought came out of his mouth, probably from his obvious disbelief. "You don't actually believe…."

"Apart from your own insistence on your innate evil, I don't see any reason it's not a workable theory."

He sighed and ran his fingers up my arm. I closed my eyes and exhaled in response. _Heavenly._

His voice laved across the space between us, a caress as sweet as his fingertips. "If I could make that so, I would. Hell, I would be happy to be just like you. Once you understand, I will never see you again. I'm coming to terms with that possibility but it becomes more difficult to consider every time I am around you. And while it is selfish to let myself interfere in your life, I just can't make myself pull away again. I will leave the very second you tell me to though."

I let out my breath in an exasperated huff. "Edward, you're giving me a farewell speech. Just...don't. I'm not sending you away -- labeling you won't change that. You know, _A rose by any other name _and all that.

"But, if you really think that's the direction things will take once I understand, I'll stop trying to find out. Effective immediately: I don't care."

"I don't think you are capable of suppressing your own rampant curiosity; I am grateful for that. But I can't tell -- you have to do this on your own. I don't know if I want to tell anymore, as liberating as sharing would be. I want you to see me as a hero forever…_ aah._ Blake was right again:

_Never seek to tell thy love,_

_Love that never told can be,_

_For the gentle wind doth move_

_Silently, invisibly._

_-_

_I told my love, _

_I told my love,_

_I told her all my heart,_

_Trembling, cold, in ghastly ! _

_she did depart!"_

_-_

As he was saying the words, a chill slithered its way up my spine, not missing a vertebra on the trip. I knew the words already. And he was misapplying them.

"Love's 'secret' was its existence at all; I think you're taking some liberties with the text, sir."

"Just a little creative license."

"More than that...you're twisting it to fit your self-condemnation. For just a little while -- especially if your secret's so awful -- let me believe that you are my hero. Minus any caveat."

"You'll hate me for it. I already hate me for it." He sighed in resignation; I took that as the only answer I'd get.

I closed my eyes and wiggled closer to him, almost touching. He folded a leg underneath himself and turned his body towards me. His hand skated up and down my arm, all four fingers leaving rivulets of frozen fire trailing behind. The now-familiar electricity coursed between us.

I found myself wondering why, for all the naked heat between us, Jake and I hadn't ever shared moments this intense -- not even one. As quickly as the thought surfaced I pushed it back below.

"I won't ever hate you. I trust you, even if you don't trust yourself, I will trust you."

My eyes blinked open as my mind decoded the second meaning in my own words; the spell was momentarily broken. "That's why you didn't want to come in here, isn't it? It wasn't for fear of my reputation or anything so quaint, it was because you don't trust yourself to leave me as you found me."

"That is the primary reason but the impropriety of being alone in a single girl's flat is part of my reason."

"Really?"

"Really, what?"

"You really don't want someone to talk about me having a guy in my place? Why would I care about that? It's not like I have a different guy in here every night -- or any night." _And I haven't been on a date in London -- or anywhere in the last year and a half, for that matter -- and I am wearing granny knickers at this very moment. Genius statement, Bella._

I could feel my neck and face warming quickly.

He overlooked my over-sharing. "My family is decidedly old-fashioned."

"It's sweet. Thank you. I'll shut up about it now, if that's okay."

He chuckled. "I'd be pleased to change the subject."

"Okay then, let's talk about the second part of my 'really'. You don't trust yourself around me?"

"Was that a question?"

"My voice went up at the end -- hell yeah, it was a question."

"You are really fired up this evening. Did Alice give you caffeine?"

_Um, absolutely. _"No."

"You're an awful liar, Bella."

"Answer me and stop trying to distract me."

"I do not trust myself around you. Not alone. I am as decided as I can be about keeping you safe but accidents happen and just the thought of you as an accident is more than my heart can take."

_**I **__would be the…accident? _"You seem to be doing just fine with that now. Can I ask why you don't trust yourself?"

"I can't tell you why -- and I thought you weren't guessing anymore. Your conscious mind may be in denial but your subconscious recognizes me as dangerous enough that it needs to figure this out. It will shout it loudly enough that even you cannot ignore the facts. You're so close to putting this together and I am both afraid you'll run and afraid you won't."

"I couldn't run if I wanted to."

He smiled sadly, unwilling to banter with me about it anymore. His fingers stayed below my elbow as we were speaking but began to stray farther up my arm again in the silence.

Instead of us carrying on separate mental conversations as I had in the awkward silence earlier, I felt as if we were now communicating across the stillness. My inexplicable pull towards him seemed to have found the first piece of not only its counterpart in him, but also its fountainhead.

Had my gifted subconscious felt his corresponding slant, answering it by the only means at its disposal, my dreams? That he should be here with me seemed undeniable and I balked at the thought that he would leave soon. So much had happened in the last few hours, my head was spinning.

I just wanted a physical piece of evidence, some tangible reassurance that he felt all these things that I did, just one little piece….

I inclined my head forward, slowly, until I heard his intake of breath. I opened my eyes and looked down at his hand still caressing my arm. Leaning forward, my lips, now tingly-numb from nervousness, closed in on his.

"I just can't…I…don't…." His voice was so quiet, I almost didn't hear it.

But I _did_ hear it.

And, horrible liar that I was, I couldn't pretend otherwise.

I froze, mortified. _There's no way to recover from this…._

"Open your eyes but, please, for the love of God, please don't move."

They just wouldn't open at first. I could tell he was going to try to make me feel better but there was nothing that could accomplish so giant a task at that moment. I kept my eyes closed a few more moments and languished in my unprecedented embarrassment.

Finally I willed my eyelids apart and looked unseeingly at the place where my leg met his. There wasn't even any space between us anymore -- there certainly wasn't any air. I stared at our legs though my vision wouldn't focus.

"Please look at me."

The mixed signals were killing me. I wanted to drink in his face at the same time I wanted to slap it with all of my might. But I certainly couldn't just look at it.

I noticed then that his hand had stilled on my arm so I tried to retract it. Gently but firmly, he held it in place -- I noted the irony of refusing me again -- and turned it over, palm down. So slowly that it ached, so slowly that I actually wondered what he was about to do -- it should've been so obvious -- he brought my fingers to his mouth and kissed them. _For the second time that night_, I remembered dully.

"I wouldn't look at me right now, either."

Predictably, I looked up to prove him wrong.

He watched my hand, as if he were addressing it and not me. "The phrase 'sealed with a kiss' is loosely based on the Roman custom of sealing a contract, a _wedding _contract, with a kiss. The kiss was a binding symbol because they believed that part of the soul is in the breath. So, it was more than an outward symbol, it was an eternal sort of covenant because their souls met on their lips and there the two eternal parts of their being blended together.

"My breath may be free of any trace of a soul but I won't partake of yours so freely.

"It is a contract, a promise I refuse to let you make until you know what you are obligating yourself to."

My eyes moved deliberately to his. I'd only thought they were dark before. The iris and pupil were the same color, a wild, glossy black.

He turned my hand over a put a kiss into my palm, sending a thrill up my back and a sucker punch to my stomach. "Hold on to this reminder until then." He closed my fingers around the tingling flesh he'd touched his lips to.

"I don't really understand. All the secret-keeping is just…." I trailed off, at a loss for the right word.

Edward had one at the ready. "It's exhausting. I want you to know so badly."

"But at the same time, you're afraid it will chase me off."

"Exactly."

"And that's why you…stopped me?"

"Yes. Tonight, patience is the better part of valor. Can we leave it at that -- maybe with a footnote to the effect that I want nothing more than to make that up to you in spades, by the bucket load, when we are on the same page…if I am ever so fortunate as to coexist with you on a page. " He pulled out the crooked smile, the one I couldn't resist.

"You don't have to promise anything…you are always allowed to cha--"

Vehemently, he cut me off. "No. I am promising."

I was still embarrassed even though I knew he didn't want me to be. I feared it would make him angry if he knew.

He knew. "Your cheeks are still flushed. Don't be embarrassed, Bella. I'm the fool here. I just don't want you to regret being my friend; I even wrote it down for you. Remember?"

I pulled the note he gave me earlier from my pocket. I certainly did recall his promise.

*

_I won't make you regret being my friend._

_I didn't touch your skin because I was afraid the exchange would be permanently seared in my memory._

_And it is._

_~EAC_

_*_

"Every time you wonder, just read that. You are seared permanently into me -- as certainly as if you'd used a brand.

"And, I'm afraid that if I keep you awake any longer, you _will_ regret being my friend. Your eyes are getting heavy, even if Alice did slip you an energy drink earlier."

"How did--"

"Lucky guess."

Despite significant effort, I yawned widely. "So we are…_friends_?"

"Until you tell me otherwise."

I wasn't really looking for a yes or no answer, I was wondering if "friends" was an appropriate term. None of my "friends" had a standing date for kisses by the "bucket load". None of my "friends" were even interested enough in such a thing to suggest it. Before I could prevent it, I'd gnawed a raw spot on my lower lip mulling it over.

"Talk to me -- what are you worrying that lip over?"

"Nothing."

He didn't even acknowledge that I'd denied having anything wrong, he just waited for me to spill. _I told one secret and now I'm just a revolving door of secrets…in which case, they're no longer 'secrets'._

"Please share, you're driving me crazy with worry over here."

Sarcastically, I warned, "You're going to pretend like you're upset by not knowing what I'm thinking?"

"Fair enough. Don't you _want_ to tell me?"

He was so sneaky. "Yes and no. Maybe later."

"If I leave, will you go to bed? Or at least swear you won't wander the streets of London?"

"Your plans were to haunt the cemeteries of London all evening. My plans to find the tube station were far more tame."

"You could find trouble at a nursery school. You found me. Twice."

"I'm not acknowledging your self-hate." I yawned again. "I am definitely going to sleep, though. The last two days have been…I don't really know…a lot to take in. Are you definitely going home and going to sleep as well?"

"I will head straight home from here. I have plans with Emmett tomorrow; we're driving out to the country to look at a place for them to stay."

Until this evening, I'd barely given Emmett and Rose a thought. I wasn't friendly with them but I'd spent enough time at their house lately to at least ask about their well-being. "I haven't even asked what everyone else is doing here. I feel so rude now."

"No, don't. We're still getting our plans settled -- and that's a new feeling for all of us. Alice and I are, obviously, in classes still but Rose is about to start teaching next year and Emmett is looking for a position over here as well. Jasper has been working on a Ph.D. in philosophy -- he wants desperately to get into Oxford soon but is going to let Alice finish her classes first.

"All the family togetherness is a bit much for us right now so I'm going with Emmett tomorrow, while the girls take Rose out, to help him surprise her with a little place outside town."

"That's very sweet. You'll be gone all day?"

"For the most part. I'll be back around sundown. Did you want to do something tomorrow?"

"No, I mean, kind of…I was just hoping I'd see you tomorrow. I'm a little addicted now, I guess." I chuckled -- mostly at my sad attempt to make a joke out of the unvarnished truth.

"I'm 'a little addicted now' as well. I don't think you could've phrased it better."

"You don't have to go, you know. I mean, unless you think it would cause problems with Carlisle and Esme."

He considered it and offered a compromise. "I need to leave really early -- how about if I stay here until you go to sleep? I promise to lock the door and I will not thumb through your diary."

I deadpanned, "Or try on my underwear?"

"I'm not sure if I can swear to that…." He smiled wickedly and I wished I could bottle up this boyishness to be uncorked every time he thought ill of himself. Any person who could cause another to be so thoroughly overjoyed with only a smile couldn't be wicked enough to wonder if they had the same Maker as the rest of us. It simply shouldn't be that way.

I wanted to find out his dark secret if only to prove to him that he wasn't as evil as he thought.

"I'm going to put on my pajamas then. Don't go?"

"I couldn't if I wanted to."

Momentarily, I wished I was one of those girls who wore sexy pajamas -- something slinkier than oxford cloth or flannel. As I brushed my teeth and washed the make-up off my face I realized that, given how badly my attempt at a kiss had gone, unisex cotton was the better idea on this particular occasion.

I re-entered the living room in my cheerful plaid flannel and a green button-down from the men's department, comforter and a pillow in hand. The socks peeking out from underneath the cuffs of my pants were red-and-white striped. Next to Edward, I looked like a pre-schooler staying the night at Grandma's.

Holding the steaming-hot evidence of his plundering, he said, "I found some chamomile tea while I pilfered your cabinets. I needed to stay occupied since your lingerie drawer is off limits. Maybe it will help you get settled down."

"Thanks. Very sweet of you to think of it."

He took my fluffy burden and handed me the tea. "Be careful with that -- it's still really hot."

"I see the steam. I drink tea all the time without injuring myself, you know."

"Yes, well, it's always a possibility...for anyone. Not just girls who bludgeon defenseless benches with their bony toes."

"I maintain that the bench came after me. You didn't actually see the incident in question and, since the bench isn't here to speak for itself, I'm the expert."

He sat in the far corner of the couch and tucked the comforter around me when I sat. I hugged the pillow to my chest. We bantered a little more as I sipped on my tea. Finally, he took my mug from me and laid the pillow across his lap.

He patted the pillow and I laid my head across it.

"When I was younger and a little more rebellious, Esme was always the one who was most successful at talking me down from the ledge. She would play with my hair like I was a kid -- it was the most soothing thing." As he was speaking, Edward combed his fingers through my hair.

"Renee used to play with my hair, too. It's a 'mom' thing, I think." In moments, my breathing fell into a slow, steady rhythm and I wondered how I'd ever fallen asleep without all this -- his smell, his hands, his voice. After a few minutes more he began to hum, occasionally singing a few phrases in a low voice. I recognized the melody as the one he'd played for me.

The last thing I remembered thinking about before I fell asleep was how sweet it was that he remembered I'd enjoyed his song.

* * *

Because of the sun's dogged persistence in streaming through my window, I awoke earlier than I intended. I hadn't seen so much sunshine in almost two weeks. The light played on the frost in the corners of my window panes, reminding me that it would take months for sunshine, no matter how glisteningly bright, to warm up England.

The brightness also helped me notice the note on my bedside table.

_*_

_I will be back at 6._

_I have a (small) surprise for you. Dress warmly._

_~EAC_

_*_

I made a mental note to ask what the "A" stood for and got up to make some tea.

My phone was charging on the kitchen counter. Edward must have noticed it was almost dead and plugged it in there; I always charged it on my bedside table.

I had six messages and eleven missed calls. I hadn't heard the ringer outside my door.

One call was from Charlie, one was from Renee and the other nine were from Jake's cell or Billy's house. _Hell's bells._

I put my phone on "speaker" and began listening to the messages as I made tea. Neither Charlie or Renee left a message; all six were Jake.

"_Cheerio, Bells. Everything okay across the pond? Just checking on you -- Charlie is gonna meet me for lunch in a little bit and he said he hadn't talked to you in a few days. Give me a shout." _Not bad -- his tone was pretty light.

"_Hey, me again. I'll try again at lunch." _Still not angry. I could deal with that.

"_You know who. Just grabbing some grub and about to head back to work. I'll try later."_

"_Me again. Someone said the Cullens were in London. So, that's a hell of a coincidence. I was just wondering if you'd run into them…yeah. Call me soon. Like now." _By the time he'd left that message, Jake was clearly trying too hard. He was royally pissed, but at least he was bothering to disguise it.

"_Bella, it's after five here and I'm off work now. You haven't called and I've been trying to get up with you all afternoon. I'm a little paranoid and really worried. It's not a good idea for you to be alone so far away. Hhhmmmppphh. Call me before you leave for class in the morning." _

"_What the hell, Bella? I'm freaking out. You better have a good excuse." _Yep, he was about to blow his top.

I dialed his number and, of course, got his voicemail. "Tag, you're it. I'm good. Yes, the Cullens are in London. Edward and I are studying in the same department and Alice goes to our school as well. Everything is more than okay on this side of the pond. I hope your sorry tail is sleeping -- _like I was until ten minutes ago_. Go find someone else's life to run! I miss you and I hope I get to talk to you later."

I unhooked my phone from the charger and got ready for my day without Edward.

* * *

**A/N** More Blake! *squeals and claps hands* Please don't let bad flashbacks from school turn you off of him. I clearly can't get enough -- and I love to share.

(I had English instructors who bled the romance from _Romeo and Juliet_. That's not Shakespeare's fault.

**_PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT: _** I posted an outtake Sunday, Edward's version of his first run-in with Bella and the day surrounding it, entitled "Greenlighting Edward". I'm saying so now to prevent another threatening email or tweet or post or text. Well, they _meant_ it to be threatening...Rawr. And there will be more extras. Add me to Author Alert if you're interested. Mwah!

SR, congrats! And, steer clear when Cosmo asks to polish your Bellie....

I have capitulated. I do tweet, if somewhat out of tune. I'll figure it out. But, seriously, RT is Retail Therapy, dammit!

Danni, thank you for cleaning up my mess. I wish I could mail you some sunshine in trade.

As always, please tell me what you think....


	10. Chapter Nine

**_Disclaimer: _The Twilight Saga and its characters belong to Stephenie Meyer**

* * *

The Copeland's library was exactly as I'd left it. The housekeeper was obviously disappointed at my lack of a specific male companion and I found that my response was mildly possessive. I wouldn't have felt so emboldened yesterday and I smiled as I remembered the events that left me so hopeful.

More than hopeful. For all the questions lingering between us, I'd found some reliable footing beneath the murky water.

I set up my reading area and pulled the flat box of documents from the low shelf. I had wanted time alone with it.

In fact, I'd wanted it enough to "borrow" them for the night.

I'd definitely gotten more than I bargained for out of that theft. Come to think of it, it might be better that I was getting my time alone with the box _after_ all Edward's revelations. I had more raw data to work with now. Clearly, whatever was going on between William and Sophie was of more than academic interest to Edward.

I could figure it out…I just needed the space to concentrate.

Edward said I was on to something with the moth poem.

And the poem from Sophie clearly irritated him. At the time, I'd dismissed my paranoia as just that. But in retrospect, no tightening of his jaw or sharp retort could be casually overlooked. As surely as biting my lip or turning red as a beet gave away my discomfort, Edward had tells that gave away his.

The catch was, he played it much cooler than I did under pressure; as illustrated by his smooth line about the song he composed and picking exactly the right moment to confront me about the box of letters.

_Which means that his tells must _really_ be telling something!_

At that bit of sleuthing, I practically jumped on the letters.

I took a deep breath and got my plan of attack together. First, I'd wanted to see what I could make of his "filing" system. I needed to go at that angle first. Then I could rifle through for the few letters we'd argued over.

The letters were in a perfectly even stack when I opened the box. No luck there.

He'd been inordinately interested in the letters with unpublished poems and that was the common thread in the ones I'd thought were pulled out before. I changed tack and tried that route. I pulled the earliest from the stack.

I held it up to the light, uncertain as to what I should be looking for. Edward had looked at more than the text, he had examined the paper, the writing, even the smell, it seemed.

Maybe he just had bad eyes?

Probably not. I couldn't imagine any part of his anatomy was less than perfect.

The thought of his just-so hands, flawless, alabaster skin and mood ring black and gold eyes made my mind wander. And my eyes strayed to the single poem that didn't fit in any subcategory that the others did.

The only poem by Sophie sat by itself.

A few lines conveyed her thoughts and the descriptions stood out…the perfectly-formed alabaster "him".

I could feel my own heart increasing to a gallop, I was so drawn in, just like…just like when I was with _him_.

Just like when the icy alabaster form ignited my own thoughts and emotions even though I didn't want him to. As if he were practicing some sort of witchcraft.

The distinctive way he looked and felt and even smelled were right there in Sophie's words.

Her poem could have been about Edward. She wasn't jilted. Her visitor bolted -- "midnight heralded his exit" -- just like Edward had when he was overtaken with some desire.

Was it possible that she had known Edward? Or just someone _like_ him?

My heart pounded away in my chest, my fingers trembled. I was unreasonably afraid someone would discover me and kept reminding myself that if I were discovered, they would catch me reading letters I was supposed to be reading, where I was supposed to be reading them.

No one would care.

I reread.

_By what bewitching spell could a gesture_

_from his icy alabaster form so_

_ignite my galloping tepid lump of clay?_

_-_

_And, how, in such heated congress did not _

_his own stony figure eternally _

_tensed, expectantly poised, warm to the day ?_

_-_

_Golden, honeyed light at his arrival shone_

_Dusky midnight heralded his exit._

_Leaving, taking cold over hearth and home_

_-_

_Incense lingered in his wake_

_._

_Holy hell. _

With a fresh perspective, details began to fall into place. The cold hands, the eyes, the indescribable smell, the undeniable charm were all quintessentially Edward.

And Alice. And Carlisle and Esme. I didn't know the others as well but what I did know didn't rule them out. How was it possible that seven people had eyes almost the same color and I'd never seen another creature that walked on two legs with eyes that color?

Was I so "bewitched" that I'd never noticed it before? I was embarrassed I'd noticed so little.

I looked at the time. I had about another hour before I needed to close up shop, so I went to the other poem that caused so much contention -- the one about the moth.

I reread it three times and nothing seemed to jump out as blatantly as the first poem. I took out my notes and tried to recall exactly what I'd said about Archy that had upset Edward so much. I said that the lines spoke to the motivation of the moth -- wanting something glorious so badly that it would risk its life. It wanted to live, not merely exist.

The moth William described was given an existence and chose to take on a task that it could possibly take on at the same time, so long as it were careful. "A stolen assignation; of illicit warmth" could be anything. A "vocation", a "task", an "assignation" -- _a job _-- was the unknown something giving his life meaning.

_It will make my job so much easier._

_It's a full-time job…._

William was her protector, just like Edward was constantly looking out for me.

On one level, the idea made a great deal of sense. She'd been given to him to take care of at an early age and had probably given the then-bachelor's life an entirely new meaning. And I got no hint of William's life being empty and void of meaning before Sophie entered it.

But when I thought of Edward feeling his life was merely a hollow existence before me…it hurt too much to consider and I couldn't see myself as the key to any other person's happiness, at least not anyone outside of Charlie and Renee.

He should have had a beautiful life already. My inclusion shouldn't be something of that much importance.

Married couples made vows to love and cherish and didn't always feel that wrapped up in the existence of the other.

That kind of attachment didn't happen with someone you were just getting to know.

Did it?

And that phrasing, "fatal pull", made me think of his polarized feelings about me learning his secret. He wanted me to know but he couldn't tell me. He didn't want me to know because I might hate him. He was so conflicted about his existence and involving me in it and yet he couldn't pull away.

Now, the similarities were making me dizzy.

My epiphany came rushing back. William was looking for a means of atonement and Sophie offered it.

Edward thought of himself as a "tyger", too evil to have been made by the same Creator as me.

My head throbbed and I realized I'd been clenching my jaw.

_Why the hell doesn't my brain function normally whenever I am around him? _

Scratch that -- it didn't function at all. Damn, it was a wonder I could take an unassisted breath in his presence.

There were times I _hadn't_ actually been able to take an unassisted breath in his presence. Had my dead friend Sophie ever felt this way? I felt a sudden kinship with her and couldn't wait to read her letters.

The similarities had been screaming at me all this time and I'd been so _distracted_ by him that I didn't _see_ him. Saying that I hadn't seen the forest for the trees was a gross understatement.

He was here to research Sophie and William because he was _like_ William. Every step I took toward them was a step toward Edward.

I barely had time to put the library back in order and rushed through the process.

I almost missed it.

On the back of a letter, one I'd actually seen Edward pull away from the others, was tiny print crammed in the bottom corner.

_B. 4.3.1691_

_Allesworth_

I copied the numbers and name down exactly as they were written. The ink was not the same as the letter. It wasn't even the same age as the letter; I expected it had been written in the last hundred years or so. Who would do something like that?

When I pulled the corner up, I realized I was about to add Sophie's letter in with these. I'd never find it later. I was grateful her handwriting was different enough to attract my attention.

I pulled the letter out.

The text was unfamiliar. She had dated it like any other but when I pulled the sheet out, I realized it was a scrawled note -- and barely that.

_Wm._

_If you are maintaining your "fluttering vigil" still, find me._

_I know now and I need your help._

_S._

How had I missed this?

**London, 1688**

The younger son of an earl, William Copeland was prepared from an early age to spend his life subject to his family and was in the unenviable position of needing to marry a lady of means should he ever want to be a man of means. At the age of twenty-one, however, his parents, brother and sister-in-law were killed traveling the Mediterranean and he was no longer the youngest son.

With the arrival of a single missive, William Copeland skipped over being an heir and went right to Earl. And with that privilege came a second, that of being the sole guardian of a precocious ten-year-old girl.

He'd always doted on Sophie, he was the playful antithesis to her parents' formal discipline, teaching her to ride a horse when she was far too young and bringing her sweets her parents would never have allowed when he visited.

Only her doting Uncle William could comfort her in the weeks following the loss of both their parents.

He said the same thing of her unexpected arrival on the rare occasions that he spoke of it -- acknowledging the uncomfortable fact that death was never far away and existing under the weight of its actuality were two very different things. Each became the sole source of comforting warmth in the other's now-chilled existence. He discharged his responsibility to her as if it were nothing of the sort. She was never made to feel as if her addition to his life were an intrusion in even the slightest manner. He'd never inhabited a home with a child and it didn't occur to him to treat her as anything other than another adult. It was just the two of them and he spoke to her about their every daily concern as if her opinions were as important as his own. Her level-headedness was simply good fortune for him.

She could have required pet monkeys from a faraway island or a trapeze to play on set up near the formal gardens. Instead, she preferred books and fast horses.

That the Copelands welcomed me so unreservedly was not a surprise once I learned that history. My "reason" for being without family was that I lost them to consumption and moved when I sold our home. I purchased a modest home in London and opened an apothecary's shop, warming slowly to the idea of offering my services as a physician. The Copelands frequented my storefront set about remedying my solitary existence not long after we became friendly.

The weekly salons grew from that desire. The three of us had differing interests and we thought that adding more into the potpourri could only make the exchanges more interesting.

Sophie really was the linchpin, however. I was too interested in not attracting extra attention to comment on more than sterile academic minutiae and William's interest in poetry put him in a distinct minority of certain persuasion. A distinctly feminine minority, which produced a mixed reaction from the resident poet. He enjoyed some of the attention. Some he could've done without.

Sophie could be called upon to discuss any subject at all. Well, any but politics.

She loved art in any form and felt that a knowledge of sciences could only give an artist more inspiration. I would bring her the most recent writings on anatomy and physiology I could unearth and she would find a reason to bring them into a discussion of a painter's brushwork or a translation of a scripture (she did not wholly approve of King James' "version"). Upon finding that the _Acta Eruditorum _reviewed Newton's _Principia_, she began using it as a source of conversational topics. When she found that it also discussed a study citing the medicinal benefits of coffee, tea and chocolate, she wanted William and I to read it regularly.

Not many women used academic journals to encourage presents. In fact, none of my admittedly limited acquaintance did aside from her.

Her amusing ability to tie together the most diametrically opposed subjects allowed her to, subtly and indirectly, discuss the most controversial. Her tangents seemed whimsical until she would casually drop in the unifying thought.

Quite often, only William and I were aware of what she'd done. Holding in our chuckles until everyone else departed wasn't always easy.

She never ventured into openly discussing the policies of the kingdom, however. She told me privately that she would not be tempted by a subject which so clearly had no interest in her good opinion. Until one day, with the possibility of a Catholic Stuart dynasty, her faith might be of note to a nobleman she wasn't related to.

Once we learned King James' wife was expecting a child, her expression no longer withered to polite disinterest when the subject of government arose.

In the first decade or so after my human life was taken from me, I had no interest in the politics of human existence above a family level either, though domestic interactions did continue to fascinate me. But, as a newborn, I saw little beyond the most immediate distractions. The distribution and exercise of authority by humans was essentially irrelevant to how I lived. The weather, flowers currents in bloom, any echoing noise -- the most mundane occurrences were of more interest to me than the name of the Sun King or his latest dalliance.

Once I acquired the habit of seeing humans as individuals, my interest in the longer-term effects of their actions and intrigued me more. But, as I was in no position to affect their situations, my interest resulted largely in a great deal of irresolvable anxiety. Sophie's winding yet inescapable rhetoric opened my eyes to ways in which I could circumvent some of my limitations.

And it betrayed her own well-disguised interest in governments and the rights of its citizens.

Through her gentle prodding, I began to see that healing their sicknesses and mending their wounds didn't have to be my only contribution to humanity. I was yet unsure about exactly what I could add but I continued to look for ways to be of service.

The most effective lessons I'd learned about atonement didn't come from a pulpit. An even more surprising revelation when I considered how long I'd looked for it there.

I glanced over again at my friend, William. He was no longer a boy but he had the potential for decades of life ahead if he were fortunate and wise. I could no more stand to watch him hurt than I could my own body and any hurting of Sophie would pain him immensely.

A plan of action formed in my mind almost immediately.

Sophie knew something about my inhuman nature. Finding out exactly how much she understood would be no easy task from this distance. But I owed it to these two kind humans who'd changed my perspective on the world to resolve this and move on with as little discomfort or damage as I could to inflict.

And, given the currently volatile political clime, time was of the essence. She didn't need to be in this self-imposed exile if warships crossed the Channel.

"Would you like me to send your reply, William? I have to pick up a shipment of ointment tomorrow. I can see that this gets put on the return to Calais."

"Lovely of you to offer. I would be most grateful."

I went home and rewrote William's letter to Sophie with a few minor additions. Before midnight, I took it to a trusted friend who would be on his way to Paris that evening.

For form's sake, I called his name as I approached the vessel he was loading. I had no doubt he'd known it was me from more than a mile away. I'd been in London for only a few hours when he approached me, feeling me out. He could sense the presence of another vampire long before I could. The more familiar I became with life as an immortal, the more convinced I became that his more sensitive warning system was something extra, not something I would hone with centuries of practice.

Reflecting on his paranoia made me hope I didn't. It was so…inconvenient. There was no reason to give him more fuel for his theories of murderous conspiracy.

I bellowed across the docks. "Alistair! It's Carlisle, my friend! Are you here?"

A familiar, dark head popped up from below decks and the boys loading his cargo hold barely gave us another glance.

"Carlisle. Always pleased to see you. How are you this fine evening?"

"I have no complaints. And you? Will the weather hold for your crossing?"

"Oh, I think this should be an uneventful trip. Just enough wind to keep me from idleness. What brings you to the docks this evening?"

"Nothing of great importance. I need a letter delivered to a young lady visiting in Paris. It's from her uncle. If you won't be going into town while you're across the Channel, I can send it with the courier tomorrow. She's his charge and he thinks she might have had her heart trifled with…young love, you know. He's writing to console her."

Alistair chuckled for the sake of our human audience. As I pretended to rifle through my pockets we whispered, too low and too quickly for them to hear. "A letter for a girl? A human girl? What are you about, Carlisle?"

"Nothing, nothing. It's just the two of them and I am afraid he's not taking her safety seriously enough in view of the possibility of a war for the crown here. I can't imagine France won't be involved and she needs to get home soon."

"What's it to you, Carlisle? They'll die; it's only a matter of when and how."

In a voice the boys could understand he added, "Come have a drink, my friend. I don't see you near often enough and you can tell me some details over a brandy."

In the tiny cabin, he continued, "Dabbling in their lives is unkind to all parties involved. Trust me. Should I just bring her back?"

"God, no. She is the niece of an Earl. I can't imagine the talk that would generate. Just the message will suffice."

"What in damnation--! There's nothing else afoot? This Earl isn't involved in any political machinations?"

"No. He's a poet, all but oblivious to the politics of the realm. And entirely devoted to raising his brother's only daughter."

"No other family?"

"None."

"Just be careful. Nothing but heartache comes from one of us interacting with humans and it attracts _their_ attention."

I knew exactly which "their" he referred to. Alistair was paranoid to the point of twitchiness about the Volturi. The constantly changing and overflowing population of London made it easy for the shifty man to disappear for weeks or months at a time, an unpredictability he obviously cherished. The fact that one couldn't control the tides or weather made this boating operation a perfect life for him. His lingering absence could be attributed to anything from bad weather to piracy.

He never used the same boys to load his boat twice. He rarely docked in the same place. I'd only known he was here by coincidence, a chance I was thankful for.

Taking the note from my outstretched hand, he looked me over and then looked the note over. He smelled it.

"You resealed it. What were you checking?"

"I wanted to make sure he asked her to come home."

"Did he?"

"Yes."

"Why are there two pages? I see the signature here on the same sheet as the greeting."

"One's a poem. Just a poem."

He snorted in contempt. "Interesting. I'll take this to her and tell her I'll be back two days after I arrive. I'll bring a reply; and her…if she's interested."

I eyed my friend. Sophie on a tiny vessel with Alistair for anywhere from five hours to two days didn't sound like a great idea to me. Her chaperone would be more like an amuse bouche. "That won't be necessary. And, you can just have someone take the letter to her. It's not so important that I expect you to hand deliver it."

He gave me a grim chuckle. "If I were King Solomon, I would deem you the child's true keeper. But, really, she's in no danger from me." He held up his hands and widened his gold eyes at me innocently.

"That I've inspired you to drink only animals so you can be around humans is flattering, friend. And a testament to your fortitude. It doesn't mean you've been practicing, ah, _abstinence_ long enough for such proximity."

"Her return isn't worth risking a journey with this monster…what kind of monster will be welcoming her home?"

"None. When she is home and safe, I will leave permanently. I am fascinated by medicine and the arts…maybe I can go somewhere else in Europe, I'm just not certain yet where."

"Well, I'll see this to her and bring you a response. Four or five days and I'll be back. How is that?"

"More than I could have asked for. Thank you, my friend."

We shook hands and I walked back to my home. I began a second letter to Sophie immediately.

**London, 2009**

It wasn't possible that I'd missed this; I wouldn't have overlooked it. That Edward and I both moved passed it was practically inconceivable. Someone had placed this here since I'd had my hands on it with Edward yesterday. Who? How? I suddenly felt very exposed and unsafe.

I texted Edward.

_**--**_

_**Hi. Are you at home yet? **_

_**~B**_

_**--**_

_**--**_

**Not quite. Looking forward to…**

**(fill in the blank) **

**-E**

_**--**_

_**--**_

_**Leaving Copeland's. **_

_**Found something in the letters & wish you were here to help with it. **_

_**~B**_

_**--**_

_**--**_

**What did you find? **

**-E**

--

Before I could respond, I received a second text.

--

**Don't go anywhere. **

**I'll pull to the curb and pick you up.**

**Be there in 3 minutes. **

**-E**

--

He said he couldn't read my mind but he seemed to know exactly what I wanted.

What could this note and its sudden appearance mean? I wondered how Edward would see this. Would he already know what it was that she needed from William?

As anxious as I'd been all day to see Edward, it wasn't under these circumstances. I wanted him to meet me at my door after I'd had a chance to dress and put make-up on and feel like a girl who didn't spend her days elbow-deep in other people's lives. I wanted to feel like a grown woman who was the main character in her own tale for once, not part of the back story.

Figuring out Sophie's would help.

Regardless, main characters didn't get that way by pouting, so I began sorting my thoughts on this evening's arc.

* * *

I walked down the steps as he pulled up, tugging at my bag to keep it from falling off my shoulder.

"You know your car is illegal on this street. What are you thinking?"

He smiled broadly. "The longer you stall the better my chances are of getting in trouble…"

Once I was actually in the car, he asked, "What did you find?"

"Two notes I hadn't seen before. One was scribbled in the corner of a letter. But not by William or Sophie, it's in different handwriting and ink. Possibly even written significantly later, from the look of it, but I'm no good with that."

"I am. Did you bring it…for, um, scholarly examination?"

I tried to look innocent and he wasn't buying it. "I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about….I did snatch it so we can look at it later, though."

He smiled in approval of my larceny.

I considered not telling him about the new note for just a moment. There were _two_ pieces of information in the unfamiliar script on the back of the other letter. Maybe I could fudge just a bit…

But who else did I have to conspire with? And what did I hope to gain by withholding information from him? Not wanting to be the one setting the precedent for even more secret-keeping, I fessed up.

"I found a note from Sophie I hadn't seen before."

Edward perked up at the thought of unread letters. "Where? Do they have more documents somewhere?"

"That's the creepy part, what made me text you. It was in the box we've been using. The box you and I used and put away yesterday. It wasn't there then and now it is, all of the sudden. You didn't put it in there, right?"

Edward clenched and unclenched his jaw and he looked in his rearview mirror. "No. Someone has been in it, then. Who let you in today?"

"The same housekeeper. Before I left, I asked her if anyone else was requesting to read the letters, maybe another student, because I hoped it could've been someone she let in. She said, and I quote, 'No, dear. Only you and your friend.' And the Copelands are still away…if someone was in there, they didn't ask permission."

"You can't go back alone."

"Why not? I was perfectly safe today. If someone wanted to find me, it wouldn't be that hard and whoever planted that letter made a point of sneaking around undetected. They don't want to run into me. I'm probably safer at the Copelands than at my place."

"Excellent point. You shouldn't stay there alone, either."

"Really? Will you be sleeping there now? Maybe standing guard?"

"Not a bad idea…."

I shook my head. "If you are staying at my place, it won't be because I'm backed into a corner. I can think of about a dozen better reasons." I winked at him.

His intense expression melted. "Hmmm. Then, can I maybe stay for one of those? Or two or three of them?"

"Right now, I'm afraid you'd only go for one or two."

He chuckled. "Remember, some of this is dependent on you. I'm waiting for you to figure things out just as much as you are."

He was exasperating. "Oh, just spill it already. Tell me. What's your secret? What are you? Why can't you tell?"

He came at it from another angle. "Bella, if you were blissfully sleeping in a dark room, and had been for hours, perhaps in the middle of a dream you were particularly fond of…"

He paused to make sure I was following. Oh, I was following. "I have a couple that fit the bill."

"If someone shook you awake and shone a spotlight in your eyes, how would you react?"

"You're not! I know this won't be pleasant. But I want it. I'm asking for it."

"You're already piecing it together, don't be mad. You should be allowed to come to the truth at your own pace, I don't want to push you off the deep end. And I'm going to give you all the time you need…I've waited this long, after all."

"If you're not telling me, I'm changing the subject."

"What else would you like to talk about?"

"Tonight."

He smiled. "A topic I am fond of."

"What does 'dress warmly' entail? Flannel? Lined gloves? Do I need a hat?"

"Jeans and a sweater under your coat will be fine. We'll be outside for part of it. It's just a date, nothing over the top. In fact, Alice sent some boots she wants you to have, if you want to wear them. They look pretty comfortable to walk in."

"Her shopping is pathological, isn't it?"

"If that's possible, yes. Now she has you in mind as well when she shops, which might annoy you but takes some of the heat off the rest of us. Don't expect help warding her off from anyone at my house -- they're more likely to use you as a human shield."

"At least she has good taste."

"She thought you might say that. Just do yourself a favor and object a little, it might slow her down."

"A human shield and now a speed bump? You make her sound so formidable -- and me, so expendable."

"She is, don't let the size fool you; I'm not dignifying that last comment. So, back to my newest favorite subject -- tonight. Would you object too much to me waiting at your flat while you get ready? I can wait outside in my car or read a book in the hallway if I need to."

It was inconvenient at times but I still swooned a little bit at his gallantry. "You can come in, I won't be too long. Should I be as paranoid as you are?"

"No need for all that, I am probably paranoid enough for both of us. It's a habit I can't shake."

"A conspiracy theorist, Mr. Cullen? You have such swagger…I'm surprised."

"Yes, well. Just because I am not afraid of someone causing physical harm to me doesn't mean I am without fears. If something were to happen to you, something I can prevent, I would never forgive myself."

He gifted me with my favorite lopsided grin. "And, assigning myself as your shadow is really no inconvenience to me so it would just be recklessness on my part not to be at your beck and call."

I couldn't argue with that.

* * *

Getting ready in my apartment knowing that Edward was in the next room, examining my CD's and books and God knew what else, took about half as long as I'd planned. Really, how was I supposed to concentrate with that going on?

I had on a printed blouse with a pleated collar, a cardigan and the mushroom-colored suede boots Alice sent. They had a wedge heel and weren't the least bit uncomfortable. I grabbed my peacoat and purse before we headed out the door.

He still had on his dark jeans and gray pullover to which he'd added a collarless leather jacket.

As he helped me into my coat, I asked, "See anything interesting on my shelves, Edward?"

"A few gaps but nothing beyond repair. We'll fix them, though. I did leave a present in your CD player. I thought you might be opposed to my slipping it into your underwear drawer."

"I would have. Thank you -- for the present and for leaving it in an _appropriate_ place."

* * *

The sun was down so, once we got in the car, I didn't really even have a feel for which direction we were headed. I asked again. "Any hints about our destination?"

"No. We're not far away. You'll know soon enough."

"So, did you look at the letter in my bag?

"Of course not. We can check it out before dinner. I did grab it, though."

"That doesn't make sense. You rifled through my purse, why didn't you just read it?"

"I didn't have to look to get the envelope, so I didn't quite 'rifle', and I thought you might want to talk about it later. Now you can."

"Sure."

"We're here." I looked around. Can you get into Big Ben at night? _That sounds like a lot of walking…. _

Then I looked up.

We were taking a flight on the London Eye.

From far away, the Eye looked like a ferris wheel. Up close, you could see that each glass compartment was completely closed-in, sealed off from the outside, an effervescent trip over the London skyline.

* * *

We had a capsule to ourselves. No host, no tourists, not even another Cullen could intrude on our evening. An entire hour alone in our very own, literal, bubble. In theory it was ideal but I heard the door seal with a hiss and got nervous.

We were officially on a date.

And, from every indication, a very well orchestrated date. He'd brought a picnic basket that they searched and let him bring on. The search was an obvious formality…they clearly knew to expect Edward and whatever the contents of his basket were.

He put them out right away as the staff readied our little capsule for its flight.

When he finished he turned slowly to face me.

"So."

I jumped right in. "Thank you."

"We're not even in the air yet, Bella. What if you have an awful time?"

"I'll have a great time. It's just that nothing we do turns out normally so I wanted to say thanks now. In case incapacitate myself, you know? And even if that happens I know I will have had a perfect evening."

"I will make sure you don't incapacitate yourself. But you're welcome anyway." He motioned towards a small table. "Are you hungry?"

"Yes." I looked from one topaz eye to the other. "It looks like you will not be interested in eating this evening."

A look of shock and disgust crossed his face. "Certainly not. This is for you."

He had certainly done his homework for this date. The truffles were an easy guess. What girl doesn't love chocolate? But he didn't have a bottle of champagne chilling. Instead, a bottle of pinot noir was already opened. I took the lid off the tiny casserole dish only to find a Bella-sized macaroni and cheese waiting. Suddenly I was very hungry and I wondered with a laugh if my eyes had darkened -- sable instead of their usual chestnut.

"It's funny?"

"No, the food looks -- and smells -- fantastic. So fantastic, in fact, that I was wondering if my eyes were…well…if they'd gotten darker."

He looked at them intensely for a moment, humoring my joke at his expense. "Mercifully, no. I'm glad supper meets your approval."

He motioned to a seat for me and guided me into it wordlessly. I enjoyed the implied possession of his hand on the small of my back and the contrasting, tentative brushing of his fingers across my arm so thoroughly that I was certain my skin rose to meet his, only to be impeded by fabric.

I was thankful for the silence as I settled into my seat and he served my food, thankful for the moment to just enjoy without thinking about conversation. The smells were divine. I loved the creamy, savory smell of the macaroni; it was one of my very favorite comfort foods and I was already feeling more at ease.

Every hint of a sound -- the slide of his hand across the bottle; the bell-like tinkling of the bottle barely touching the glass; the satiny, wet whisper of the wine gliding down the inside of the glass; the fleshy parting of my own lips before they prepared to introduce themselves to the glass he held -- rung out clearly, distinctly in the echoing absence of conversation.

He handed me a short glass of the 2002 Marcassin Pinot Noir, as if I might somehow disapprove. That aroma filled my nose as well. If black lace had a taste, this was it. As substantial on my tongue as anything black might initially appear to the eye but, upon closer inspection, as intricate and delicate as lace revealed itself to be against the contrast of something pale.

My pedestrian obsession with pinot noirs hadn't ever been fed by so fabulous a bottle. Disappointment shadowed my bliss. I knew I'd never be able to afford my suddenly inflated standards.

How many ways could Edward Cullen unreachably alter my expectations? I couldn't help but smile at the thought.

_How many ways could he?_

He exhaled and I realized it was with relief. Had he thought there was a chance I might not love that? Inconceivably, it seemed the answer was yes.

"You did a lovely job with the wine, as you do with everything you attempt. Can I assume that you are not interested in tasting it?"

"I wasn't. But you have piqued my interest. Tell me about it."

"I'm not really a connoisseur. What do you want to know?"

"Me either. Just tell me what you like about it."

"Every millisecond it is in my mouth, it tastes a little differently. At first, the brighter notes sort of demand your attention -- sort of tart and softly sweet like a blackberry. There is a more solid note that I can't quite put my finger on to describe, it doesn't linger. Maybe a walnut? And chocolate…though that could just be me eyeing those truffles."

"The power of suggestion."

"Those need no advertisement. I can smell them from here."

"Do you want one?"

I laughed softly. "I don't want to spoil my supper."

He placed the dish of macaroni and cheese in front of me and put the fork beside it. "It's all yours. No vegetables though. I hope you're not disappointed."

It was just as delicious as it smelled. He walked over to a console while I started eating.

We finally began to ascend enough that I could see up and down the river. It was dark, though, so there wasn't much to see yet, just reflected lights flickering on the Thames. I figured I had ten or fifteen minutes before the view was worth taking in so I concentrated on my supper.

The sights inside the capsule were much more interesting for the time being. Edward was always breathtaking. Every wry upturn of his mouth made my heart skip a beat. His hair begged to be played with -- eyes closed, so nothing distracted me from the sensation. His eyes were an endless source of amusement for me, especially now that I knew what to look for.

But somehow the sweet intensity of the evening had amped all of those attractions up. I wouldn't have thought anything could be sexier than watching and hearing -- hell, _feeling_ -- what he did with his piano.

Of course I'd been wrong.

He was more relaxed about this evening because he was in control. He had an obvious affinity for being in control. But, clearly, he was as nervous about getting "us" off on the right foot as I was.

That little bit of insecurity was endearing.

I wondered if his kiss embargo would hold through the evening. _A kiss is _not_ a contract, dammit. Hadn't anyone given him the update?_

Soft music began to play.

_Could this be any more perfect? _

He sat beside me, silently, as I took a few bites. "This is incredible. The chocolate was almost a given. But how did you know what food and wine to pick?"

"I rummaged through your cabinets while you were getting ready for be the other night, remember? You only had two bottles of wine, one almost empty and one in the cupboard, and they were both similar to this. And, you are clearly fond of pasta and cheese. They were both kind of easy. You keep the chocolate by the wine. That was interesting, so I got both."

"My wine is nowhere near this wine but you definitely found my weakness. You made some pretty amazing choices, I have to say."

"You haven't tried the truffles."

"Not for lack of interest."

He looked at me significantly and I blushed.

"Let's remedy that." He plucked one right from the center and looked it over, for defects I assumed. With his thumb and forefinger, he held it just beyond my mouth.

I leaned forward, closed my lips around part and bit it off.

His eyes followed my mouth all the way to its destination.

I swallowed and took the remaining piece from his hand. I held a little swallow of wine for a moment, concentrating on the mix of it with the chocolate. Motionless, he watched my mouth still. His fingers hung in the air, dusted in cocoa from the truffle.

"There's no reason for that to go to waste." He looked confused until I took his thumb and brought it to my mouth. He'd kissed my hand and I carried the residual tingle for hours. No reason I couldn't repay the favor. I placed a kiss that was anything but chaste on his thumb, sweeping my tongue across it and sucking lightly on the pad to clean off the remnants.

It would be criminal to let such good chocolate go to waste.

I'd only had enough daring to go that far but, when I looked up, he was looking at the other dirty finger. He seemed disappointed that I hadn't given it as much attention. I put the end of his finger in my mouth and licked the end clean, grazing it with my teeth.

He looked a little…hungry when I made eye contact with him again. "Are you sure you didn't miss any? I'd hate to think that there's cocoa languishing away on some other digit."

I pretended to inspect the other three. "They are perfect."

He chuckled. "I think that what they are is jealous."

I wondered how deep my blush was in the dim light of our glass pod. "That was delicious."

_As was the truffle._

"Another?"

"I'm not sure I'm up for that yet."

He smiled knowingly and nodded.

The music changed; I thought recognized the next song and said so.

"Maybe you'd do me the honor of a dance?"

"Oh, um, I don't…I don't really dance."

"It's all in the leading." He put his hand out; I just couldn't keep mine from him.

So, I stood and stepped into his other outstretched arm. His embrace required all my senses -- I could hear him humming and whispering the words in my ear, but it wasn't until we were well into the song that I gave the lyrics any real attention.

He couldn't stop trying to warn me.

_Like the virtue and the vice, like the verdict and the plea; there's you and then there's me._

I pulled my face back to see his face and was floored by the look. _Oh God, that look. _I managed to whisper, "It's going to be okay."

There was just so much that I wanted to ask him, things I surely needed to understand, but I knew that, at least for now, this was enough. If he were right, his answer might make me never want this, him, us again. Or I might want him always. Either way, I lost nothing by letting him hold me and sway to his play list while we hovered over twinkling London.

It was a shame that none of the great poets who lived and loved and wrote here -- Keats, Shakespeare, Yeats, Byron -- none of them got to spend a evening with London laid out at their feet, holding their muse, whispering the poetry she inspired in her ear.

I wondered how many thousands of couples had held one another, kissed in the moonlight or fallen in love looking out over this city and the Thames. Had any of them been so smitten?

London's famous love stories -- whether having taken place there or been written there -- made a litany both ancient and inspiring. Putting us among them might have seemed presumptuous to an outside eye but we were taking that group by force as far as I could tell.

Shakespeare might be jealous of my first date. I smiled at my own cheek.

His hand in mine was steady though the pressure was light. It was the hand on the small of my back, the one leading me across our tiny dance floor, that was driving me to distraction. While he held me firmly enough that I couldn't make a mistake, his thumb played with my back through the fabric of my blouse. And every time that it became too much, that I might hyperventilate and need to take a seat, he would hold it still or gently pull me close.

Never long enough for me to hear if his heart was galloping like my own. But it was close enough.

I was falling in love with Edward no matter what his gruesome secret. Could love him and not know?

As if to erase any lingering trace of doubt in my mind, the song continued.

_Oh the one that asks for more, Is bound to end up sore._

I could have continued forever at his side and never discovered more about him than the facts I knew at that moment; I could remain eternally, blissfully, blindly devoted to Edward Cullen. Even when I said those words to him the night before about not finding out more, I hadn't known how gravely I could mean them.

But I knew when he held me; I felt it viscerally more than understood it.

Without ever being allowed a conscious choice, I tied my lot up with his until he no longer wanted me. It was a frightening sensation, like being suspended over a chasm by only the finest threads, but I could acclimate to the uncertainty of it all. The process had already begun.

_Like hell and heavenly, like hell and heavenly…._

The song continued.

The rest of our hour in the Eye was sweet and comforting and entirely ours. Everything about his plan for our evening had been just so.

When we got high enough, I could see all of London. Edward knew what each and every light was and laid out the tour he would give me once we were on the ground.

The food, the warmth from the wine, the view, the company…my night was overwhelmingly perfect. I wondered if our bubble would burst when we stepped into the open air, exposed to the elements.

We walked back to the car and he asked if I wanted to meet up with his brothers and sisters or go somewhere else by ourselves.

"Let's meet up with them."

It was time that he didn't feel alone with his closest friends.

They were at another cemetery.

It was creepy but I thought I was beginning to understand. I wondered who we were about to pay homage to as we zoomed along in silence.

"Who are we meeting tonight, Mr. Cullen? Another poet?"

His voice was odd when he answered. Not angry.

He was…skeptical?

No, he was afraid. He was afraid and trying to hide it from me. With his eyes on the road and almost enough nonchalance to keep me from being nervous, he said, "Alice says it's a surprise."

"She's so full of surprises." I said it because that's what oblivious Bella would say.

"Isn't she?" He answered that way because it's what that Bella would need to hear to remain oblivious.

We arrived in a hurry; Edward was driving too fast and we didn't have to go very far. He walked too quickly for me to keep up at first. Finally he relented and slowed to my more normal pace. "I'm sure they won't run off without us."

He looked at me oddly, as if I'd changed the subject in the middle of a conversation, before he answered, "Sorry. Alice is so impatient."

"Yes, well, remind her when we see her that you are still on a date with me."

"With great pleasure. They're right up here."

When we got close enough to the other four to see them, I was surprised that no one was stretched out over a grave or obsessing over a headstone. They we simply standing around chatting, as casually as if we were in a nightclub or a school dance.

Alice met us before we got to the others. "How was your date? As if I need to ask…I mean, look at you two. Disgusting, really." Even her face of disgust was adorable.

I smiled. "We are having a lovely time."

"Oh. Still on the date? Don't let me interrupt."

Edward said, "Oh, you're not. Bella wanted to see what you four delinquents were doing before we continued our evening. Dinner is over; I thought I'd treat her to a show as well."

"Very funny." Emmett didn't actually sound amused, a first.

The intensity in the car had faded but I got the feeling Edward would lie if I asked about it, even much later, so I went with their ruse until I could find a way around it. "So, what are we going to see tonight?"

"We're actually just wandering around here."

"No plans…from the perfectly pre-planned Cu-" _Shit. _If you are sarcastic often enough, even if it is just in your own head, it will bubble to the surface occasionally. You can't keep all that bottled up for long.

They all laughed. Each and every one of the flawless, pre-planned Cullens laughed at their own expense. Emmett laughed enough for four or five of them.

Edward pulled me gently by my hand. "Come on, funny girl. Let's find someone dead to meet."

As we approached an ostentatious sarcophagus, Edward stiffened and stopped. I heard a rumbling from him and a second behind me. It sounded like it might have come from Jasper.

"I got nothing." Alice said. She and Edward had scrunched up their noses, as if something smelled awful. I didn't smell it.

"At all?" Edward seemed confused and angry.

"Nothing," she said ominously.

Jasper offered, "Take her and go. Whatever it is, we can take care of it without you." He'd frozen in his tracks like Edward. Nothing but his mouth moved as he spoke.

Edward muttered in wry disbelief, "The boy." He bowed his head in defeat and then he said, "Too late." He took me by my shoulders and made me look him in the eye. "Bella, I will make sure you and everything you care about are fine -- do you trust me with that?"

I nodded my blind acceptance and pictured myself suspended over the chasm again. This time Edward held the ends of my almost-invisible restraints like a puppeteer.

And then, a voice I almost remembered. It was mangled beyond recognition by animosity.

"What kind of fucked-up death-ritual is this? Let go of her, leech. She's not going anywhere with you -- long-term or short-term."

Before I could register what was happening, I was between Alice and Edward and the other three were between us and the voice.

The voice was untroubled by their defensive postures. "I don't mind fighting for her. Even if I go down, someone's eternally damned ass is headed straight to hell. Who wants to go first?"

Why would they need to protect me from Jake?

_Jake!_

"Jake!"

"It's okay, Bells, I'm here. Close your eyes or something."

"No, Jake, I'm fine. Really, I'm fine. They would never hurt me, no matter what they are. Everything's fine."

"You know?" He sounded shocked.

Emmett echoed Jakes words, "You know?"

Edward tried to interrupt. "No, she-"

Jake cut him off savagely. "Not a word from any of you."

I had to fix this. "I know this will be fine. Whatever they are."

"I have to work on your bike because biker mechanics make you nervous and you're hanging with v--"

"No! She doesn't know, Black." It was Rose. _Rose? _She continued, "Knowing forces some choices on her; she deserves some time to consider."

"This is rich. You don't get to decide what she deserves, Blondie."

"No, _she_ does, pup. Quit baring your teeth at me and get down here so we don't have a scene on our hands. Yelling across the yard is uncivilized." She clicked her tongue against her teeth twice and patted her thigh as if she were calling her dog.

I heard Jake mumble, "Bitch," at Rose as he walked up.

She snarled back, "You came on command. Who's the bitch?"

Alice looked positively shell-shocked.

I couldn't listen to anymore of their bizarre, openly-hostile conversation. "Enough. Don't talk about me as if I'm not right here. What are you here for, Jake?"

"Isn't it obvious? You. I came here for you. You're not safe around them and I came to take you home."

"That's it?"

He nodded.

"Well, you can turn back around because it's not enough reason for me to leave."

"Yeah, it is. Bella, it's more than a good reason. If you notice, Casanova here isn't disputing what I just said."

Jake was right; Edward hadn't said a word in protest.

I wasn't fueling Edward's self-condemnatory hellfire. "It doesn't matter. He doesn't get to tell me where to be either. I'm not going home, my thesis isn't finished."

"I can stay for a while."

A rumbling emanated from Edward.

"Maybe you and I could chat for a second." I turned to Edward. "Can you guys give us a minute? You don't have to go far, I won't be long."

I squeezed his hand. He lifted my hand to his lips and nodded.

Then, Edward said to Jake, "There are rules to be observed. I will know if you step out of bounds or if you put her in danger."

"She's in no danger from me."

"I think we both know better." And then to me, "I won't be far."

The five of them walked away, disappearing from sight behind a mausoleum.

We stood across from one another in silence for a moment.

He seemed so imposing; it was probably because I hadn't seen him in months. In the moonlight, every ripple of muscle covered by his coppery skin shimmered like moving water. His jet black hair was growing out and it suited him.

He really was beautiful and I'd missed him so.

And he crossed an ocean because he was afraid for me. Even Edward had been warning me to stay away from him. How could I stay mad -- really mad -- at him for very long? It would be hypocritical and it just wasn't possible.

I wrapped my arms around his neck and Jake lifted me in a warm hug. "Why don't you answer your damned phone, woman?"

"Why the hell would you fly halfway around the world to protect me from _the Cullens_?"

He put me down and gave me a very serious look. "They're dangerous, Bells."

"What does everyone know that I don't?"

"You know. If you think hard, you know why I would--" He hit a verbal wall.

Jake tried again. "The part that pisses me off the most is that he could tell you at any moment but he won't. _I _don't even have the option of telling you."

"I don't even know what the hell that means. Listen, I'm just going to lay down the rules. Clearly, you are a long way from home a need to stay with me, right?"

"If I could, yeah."

"Great. You can have my place and I'll stay with the Cullens."

"No."

"You don't get to tell me what to do. I'm grown, dammit. And tonight I will stay with them. When I know I can sleep through the night under the same roof with you without wanting to put a knife in your chest, I'll do that. Tonight I am not at that point.

"Deal with it. You're grown now, too."

"I don't like it."

I gave him half a smile. "You don't have to."

He nodded and we were quiet for a few seconds while he considered the options I'd laid out for him. Finally he asked tersely, "What are you doing tomorrow?"

"Some schoolwork. Edward has plans with Emmett so I am on my own doing it."

"Let me guess: something indoors?"

What the hell did that mean? "I don't know. They are getting a surprise for Rose."

He snorted his contempt. "So, I get you all day tomorrow if I behave?"

"After my schoolwork, I will show you around London and we can go from there. If you are going to act like a grown up."

"I can deal. Just do me a favor tonight."

"Maybe. What is it?"

"Do you remember the bonfire at Seth and Leah's when you brought your friend, Angela, to the res?"

"Yep. That was the first time you showed me how the driftwood burns different colors."

"Replay that night. Think about it. _Remember_. I've already told you plenty."

"I will. I promise."

He hugged me again. "I should take my luggage into your apartment; I stowed it in a bush out front. I'll talk to you in the morning, I guess?"

He never doubted for a minute that he could stay with me.

"Absolutely. Do you need directions or something?"

"Nope. All good."

"It is good to see you…even if you are pissing me off."

"It's so nice to be pissing you off again."

I punched his arm and immediately regretted it -- no give there. _Ouch. _He was six and a half feet of solid muscle.

I'd made myself pretty familiar with those muscles before, you'd think I'd remember that.

He laughed and hugged me before he turned towards the cemetery gate. "Night, Bells."

* * *

_**A/N**_ First and foremost, I am sorry for the unexpected delay. The Beastie Boys have provided the soundtrack for the last few weeks. _I can't stand it, I know ya planned it…. _

I will have company for the next few weeks so I expect another week and a half or (gasp) two before I post again. I hate to string you all along and I will certainly post sooner if I am so fortunate as to be able to scrape together some time by myself in a house besieged by my family.

I love a well-written Jake. I will be sticking to canon coupling for the Cullens. That is all I will say about him (and only that much because I know how much drama his appearance creates).

The poem is mine and is not new.

The song Edward and Bella dance to is "You and Me" by Matthew Barber. Edward's self-condemnation got the better of him and he slipped a song that was not a love song past the censors.

Amuse bouche should be trademarked but, somehow, it is not.

Danni, you seriously took me to the woodshed with this chapter. I will never try to sneak a half-assed rewrite by you again; somewhere a nun is nodding her head in approval.


	11. Chapter Ten

_**Disclaimer:** The Twilight Saga and its characters belong to Stephenie Meyer._

The two poems in this chapter are my own.

* * *

Before I could wrangle my cell out of my pocket, Edward was at my side. We stood silently for a moment, separately considering the scene that had just occurred. I was uncertain where to start, I had more questions than I could wrap my head around and I realized that I was shivering.

Jake was barely out of sight and already I felt cold again. And I was suddenly overcome by a sharp longing for my American family and friends.

Not that I would've by any means described myself as in denial about missing my family and friends back in the States. But emailing regularly and staying busy served to just keep my hunger for them at bay. Now that I'd seen Jake I was starving for them.

What I wouldn't give to have Charlie ruffle my hair and tell me I was a "great gal" or Angela tell me to get a life. I missed them in the flesh and a computer screen wasn't even a second-rate substitute. It barely touched the void I was feeling now.

Edward had orchestrated this gorgeous evening and I was pouting? No one would feel sorry for me if I told them the sob story about my fairytale evening capped off with a surprise visit from my best friend. So I put a mental cork in it. I could spend all day with Jake tomorrow and sort through my acute-on-chronic homesickness.

Because, while I couldn't ignore my past, my right-now was looking pretty damned good in his designer jeans and leather jacket. I allowed myself a moment to assess my blessings. It certainly helped my suddenly melancholy shift in mood.

I gave him an apologetic half-smile. "I'm sorry about…that…about…."

"You have nothing to apologize for. I can't imagine what it is that you think you are sorry for."

He took my hand and turned me to face him. "I'm sorry you were in the middle of that; it wasn't part of my perfect, pre-planned evening."

Uggghh. "My sarcasm -- it's not my best character trait."

"Oh, I beg to differ. It's right up there with that quick mind and the ease with which you suspend your disbelief. I am very fond of it.

"There actually was a bit more to our evening, if you're still up to it. Nothing as red-tape riddled as the ride on the Eye; we can do it another night if you'd rather."

"Don't put it off because of that…that. Jake is on his own tonight and I said I'd talk to him tomorrow. I don't want to let all that ugliness ruin our evening any further. Please, let's do whatever you'd planned. It will help take my mind off of it."

I could feel him staring at me as I shuffled my feet in uncertainty. I wanted to tell him about my sadness -- I certainly didn't want him to feel responsible for it -- but I didn't want to drag the mood down further.

Edward, apparently tired of examining the top of my head, cleared his throat and practically whispered. "You miss him."

I didn't want Edward getting the wrong idea about my feelings for Jake so I explained. In fact, I over-explained. "Not just Jake. I miss everyone. Things in Washington had gotten so awkward. It felt like everyone was moving on with their lives, finding jobs or starting families, and I was just stagnating there, so I was lonely before I even decided to leave. Not to mention the fact that I think I made some of them feel guilty or sorry for me. It was just too much.

"When the idea to research Sophie came up, I leapt on it. I thought I'd try to start fresh here. I knew that a lot of these students would be from the States and because of that, my lack of a personal life wouldn't stick out so much. Keeping some distance from them helped keep them from finding out the truth -- that I was just alone.

"And I don't even know why.

"I feel like the proverbial square peg every single place I try to fit in."

Edward was looking at me like a porcelain doll that might break if he breathed the wrong way.

"Shit. I am such a cliché. Every stand-up comedian has done a routine about the worst things a girl can say on a first date and I think I just said every damned one of them." I scrubbed my face with my hands and took a deep breath.

Edward chuckled and pulled me to his chest. "That was funny enough but one day you'll look back on this date with a very different perspective and what you just said will be very funny. _Nothing_ about this date is trite or cliché, especially not you." He kissed the top of my head.

"And, while you would find a way to be perfect without me, now that I am here you will never be alone again."

Something about being wrapped there in his arms made me feel like a caterpillar coming out of its cocoon. I knew I needed to see the world outside but I wasn't sure I wanted to face it quite yet. No little winged creature can take flight inside its protective nest but I wasn't sure if I was ready for the dangers that came with flying and existing in wide open space.

Edward's illustration of waking me from sleep suddenly rang true; his logic was irrefutable from this angle. Maybe some time to get used to the idea that he wasn't just like me was a good idea. Until the almost-violent outburst this evening, I assumed he was making a bigger deal out of it than he needed to.

But Jake was so intense about the danger. And Edward didn't protest that fact.

I couldn't pretend like he didn't have a better idea about facing the facts of his existence. His hindsight was probably better than twenty-twenty.

Even my Dream Edward had the decency to tease and cajole me from sleep, whispering to me and stroking my face. My sleeping brain seemed to have much better sense than my waking one.

I snuggled into my granite-walled cocoon and said, "I feel better already. What else did you have in mind?"

We walked to the car quietly holding hands and then rode just as quietly in a cab to the side entrance of what was obviously a grand building. He procured a key from his pocket and typed in the security code.

Though he'd clearly gotten someone's permission -- he did have a key and pass code -- it felt as if we were doing something against the rules.

_Oooh. And I have stolen letters in my bag. We _are_ criminals._

A snicker broke free.

"What are you trying not to laugh about?"

"I feel like we are doing something very illicit, sneaking in the back door of a place this large after hours, and then I remembered that, on top of that, I have a stolen cache of antique documents in my bag.

"Very James Bond."

"I assure you we are not 'sneaking' into this theater."

He led me through what seemed to be the backstage area and onto a stage that held only a grand piano.

I felt my heart stutter and start at the possibility that he might play for me again. When I looked over to ask, Edward was already smiling devilishly.

"Excited already? I am very pleased. You were irritated with me the last time I played so I wanted to play for you with a better starting point. The best seat in the house is that one right there." He pointed a few rows beyond the orchestra pit.

"It's a long way from you, though."

"It's not so far…do you not want to sit there? We can do something else if you'd rather."

"I am beginning to trust your judgment, Mr. Cullen. I'll at least start there."

He smiled and handed me a program from his jacket pocket. "I'm going to set up the stage, have a seat."

By the time I reached my seat, maybe forty paces away, he was hovering over the keys with the stage lit softly from above. Two candelabras glowed behind him. He was waiting for me.

I looked at my program and half expected his family to step from behind the curtains. The first song was simply entitled, "Carlisle & Esme". However, no one appeared. Edward smiled at me and began playing the familiar piece.

To begin with, he struck single keys and left the notes floating in the air, solitary and alone, until the next single note came to find it. Gradually the single notes came closer together until the melody began to emerge. While the tune was not joyous, it was straightforward and graceful, too lovely to want to end but spare enough to cry out for adornment.

And yet it continued, comforting though unadorned, for some time. It seemed that even the keys themselves throbbed for more, something indefinable, but they played on regardless of their own wants, unwilling to compromise this lovely tune by weaving it through with an inferior accompaniment.

Finally, bright notes from higher keys were scattered over the constant melody. They appeared at odd intervals to begin with, often enough to leave a listener wanting more.

I wanted to stand up and shout at Edward, "That's it! That's what you are missing! Go back, go back!"

I immediately felt silly; he had to know that the little descants fit and were the building blocks of what his original melody needed. Now, the original melody, the one that I was so content to listen to forever when he began playing it, seemed lackluster and wanting. Even Edward's keystrokes became labored and uninspired in my mind.

Then, a heart-breaking, minor-keyed bridge to …nothing.

Nothing? There had to be more. Again, I wanted to stand up and shout! This wasn't the sweet melody on his CD, this was something altogether different, a bait-and-switch.

So subtly I almost didn't hear the first stroke of the key, a series of thready triplets that sounded like a heartbeat began to gather force and wrap themselves around the original melody. They turned into the sweet, high little sideline from earlier, but down an octave.

The two pieces together were a garden in full bloom, with another gorgeous detail to soak in from every possible vantage. Finally, the simple melody he began with lived up to its potential.

I felt finally satisfied as Edward's fingers came to rest over the last notes.

I mumbled my complaint, thinking he wouldn't hear. "You changed that one."

He chuckled. _Damn the hoity-toity auditorium and its amazing acoustics. _"Yes. It was a present for my parents: Carlisle and Esme's love story. What I just played was the full composition but Alice doesn't like the wandering in the middle so it doesn't usually get played. Carlisle was a bachelor for some time and quite reluctant to bring a woman into his life. I think he is more than content with the choice he made. Esme is just perfect for him. All's well that ends well, right?"

He smiled and turned his attention back to the piano.

The next two songs were original as well, one for Rose and Emmett entitled "Combustion" and the other for Alice and Jasper, "Inevitable". The titles were printed on the page before me.

The last song, appropriately enough, was entitled "Bella's Lullaby" with an accompanying piece, "Dreaming Isabella". It was late and I was sleepy. At first, I felt embarrassed and more than a little conspicuous. When they were the next thing to be played, I colored from the top of my scalp to the tips of my toes. I was certain the red glow was visible even beneath my hair in the dim auditorium.

Edward sat before the keys uncertainly. "This is on the CD in your apartment if you'd rather listen to it alone. If it helps, I'm a bit nervous too."

Here he was, his heart and soul on an ebony-and-ivory platter for me, and I worried about my own…my own what? Gah! We were on a date, of course he was paying attention to me. It's hard to fade into the background when there is none.

"Don't be nervous, Edward. I'm just fidgeting because you wrote a piece of music for me…you know how I like to be part of the white noise. I'm struggling with being the reason for the gorgeous sounds coming from a piano at center stage.

"You are incredible and I love this. It's so much better than anything I'd imagined to cap off our evening. Please play…here. Just, can I, um, can I come up there? For this one?"

"Of course."

He pulled a wing back chair from a gathering of props beyond the stage curtain and put it on a corner of the stage behind the candelabras. I felt less conspicuous in the darkened corner.

He began to play another familiar piece. As he had with Carlisle and Esme's love story, he had changed this one too.

The haunting piece began on a more menacing tenor than it had in his car or even at his library. Where I'd seen images from Grimm's fairy tales before, now I saw a more developed monster, a creature with more pathos than simply a spell that could be undone by a kiss.

Sitting behind the flickering candles on this gorgeous stage, it felt like the Phantom could ascend from the black depths and spirit me away at any moment. A shuddering chill ran up my spine.

Yet, somehow, I couldn't find it in me to be repelled -- even knowing I should be. The piece was still beautiful and drew me in. My breathing relaxed and, as it did, the menacing texture melted away. The piece became, as advertised, a lullaby. It was the song that he hummed on my couch. It could be the last thing I heard every night until it was simply the last thing I ever heard and I would always sleep like a contented child. My dreams would always be a wonderful place if this was how I found my way to them.

The song felt as if it were reverberating through my chest, as if the notes caused an echoing flutter in my chest. And I felt myself breathe in as the sound swelled and exhale with its fall.

It was as if the pace were preset to my own heart rate and breathing pattern, my own biometric composition, which was a silly, overly-romanticized notion. But, it was serendipitous.

Sweet chance was enough for me.

Just when the dark fable of a piece began to hypnotize me, he began to send out delicate, lilting lines of melody across its surface. The contrast of the bright confections against the nocturne made me fear for them, that they might morph into the darkness.

Instead, the mood of the entire piece lifted. The innocence saturated the nocturne with hope.

After a bridge I didn't recognize, Edward moved into what I took to be "Dreaming Isabella". The piece began slowly enough but quickly picked up the pace and left me breathless. One moment, I was smiling for no reason and the next I felt quiet and small.

Before I could beg to be let off the roller coaster, he bridged back into my lullaby.

My limbs felt spent and gelatinous.

Edward looked just as exhausted and out of sorts as I felt.

"You said that wasn't yours."

"I did."

"Because it's mine?"

"It always has been. From the moment I first saw you, I've felt like I might consume you when all I want is to make you safe and happy. It's a fine line to walk but you've never flinched when you look at me. I've never been able to dismiss you."

"I have no idea what you're talking about you know."

He smiled knowingly. "I always say too much."

"No. You never say enough."

"Come here, out of that dark corner."

I crossed the stage to him and was about to seat myself on the bench next to him when he suddenly picked me up and placed me on the keys in front of him with cacophonous bang of random notes. The laugh that had bubbled up at his seeming playfulness stopped dead when I saw the very intense expression he'd trained on me.

"Ah, I--"

He bent his mouth to the base of my neck and ran his face up the side of my own until his lips were flush with my ear. I could hear him inhale.

Somehow, it felt like a kiss good-bye. "Bella, it's not too late, you know. You can have any life you want, you don't have to tie your fate up with mine."

I felt my heart rate pick up, from anger this time.

I pulled my head back and glared at him. My hushed voice more than filled the space between us. "Shut up. For once, just shut up and stop pushing happiness away with more force than you are pursuing it."

I was as obligated to him as I would ever be, as if I signed my name in blood. The threads that suspended me from falling into oblivion would never turn into iron cables and safety harnesses. Uncertainty was just something I would have to commit myself to.

My breathing became more labored as I considered a life with that kind of vulnerability. I fought for a quick breath to at least partially sate the burn in my chest. It did no good to contemplate risks where Edward was involved. Even constant threat of peril would not deter me. I was entangled.

I had my goddamned contract already. My name was on the dotted line.

Before he could object, I slammed my heated, panting mouth to his hard-candy one. I dredged my greedy fingers through his hair, searching for something solid to hold on to as the room pitched and swayed around me. My desperation was echoed by random, unintentional keystrokes.

I had waited and wanted too long to be deterred by something so inconsequential as harming the innocent object beneath me -- collateral damage, as far as I was concerned.

My heels dug into the bench. I couldn't get close enough to him but I wasn't yet brazen enough to wrap my legs around his waist or plop myself on his lap.

But, God, did I want to.

So I continued to slide my tongue across his mouth and press my warm mouth to his. He really did taste like a piece of candy -- bergamot and scotch and something uniquely, intoxicatingly Edward.

And, even though his skin was as cold as stone, when I sucked his lower lip, it gave and pulled towards me like I wanted it to so that I could run my teeth across it. He growled at the contact of my teeth to his skin.

I set my elbows on his shoulders and curled my fingers possessively into the hair at the crown of his head.

Tentatively, I felt a cold hand rest on my hip bone and hook in the belt loop of my jeans. I let out a groan that was almost inaudible, more of a coarse rattle in my throat than a real noise from my vocal cords.

Edward's chest vibrated in answer.

For all of this evening's civilized planning, this kiss was nothing of the sort. It was not polite or, obviously, orchestrated. I felt practically feral.

I was officially ruined. There was nowhere to go but down from here. I would never be satisfied by my mouth on any other mouth than Edward's.

As suddenly as I'd commenced this heat Edward took it from me.

He went rigid, as if what was happening seeped into his head and he realized it wasn't an occurrence he wanted part of. He put his hands over mine and unlaced them from his hair -- a silent reminder that, no matter how possessive I might be, it was still his.

Chastened, I put my hands to my side.

Throwing myself at him may have been more embarrassing than the almost-kiss in my apartment but at least I had something to show for it. I wouldn't trade that for getting my dignity back. That experience was so seared into my consciousness that I'd give…what wouldn't I trade for a repeat?

I was the moth, enthusiastically immolated for my moment of really living.

Breathless, as much from my heart pounding away in embarrassment as passion, I panted out, "I'd do that again in a heartbeat."

"Easy, love. You'll certainly have an opportunity. But I'm not certain any heart involved -- yours or mine -- is up to that again anytime soon. Just breathe."

He stiffened as I leaned forward. I put my face in front of his and breathed in deeply. I exhaled slowly, half-wondering if I could make smoke rings with the illicit haze. I took a second hit and leaned back.

My subconscious realized that she was going to have to up her game drastically or she was about to be unemployed. Maybe now that I didn't need her to manufacture Edwardian fantasies she could get to work on more important things like the events that went down in the graveyard earlier.

I smiled and shook my head, trying not to laugh at myself.

"Where is your head, Isabella Swan?"

So much for that effort. My laugh echoed because of the excellent acoustics. "I was just thinking that I don't care how irritated you are with me, I wouldn't trade that for anything in the whole damned world. I felt a little like the moth who made you so irritated."

"You couldn't be more wrong."

"Oh, no. I really wouldn't undo it for anything."

"No, about me being irritated. You seem to be of the mistaken impression, no matter how many ways I try to disabuse you of the notion, that I don't…_want_ you. No person will ever be as attractive to me as you will always be, on any level."

"Yeah, well, your mood swings are killing my buzz."

"This is just so bittersweet for me. I feel like I am taking more from you than you might be willing to offer."

"Do I seem…ambivalent? Did my feelings about you seem divided a moment ago? Do you think I am withholding any part of me?"

Edward looked too stunned to answer.

I did it for him. I whispered, "The answer to all of those questions is 'no'."

He kissed me quickly on the mouth and said, "Let's get you home. I have been thoroughly chastened." _Turnabout is fair play. _

When I recovered from my shock, I said, "I need to stay with you, I sent Jake to my place."

On the way home, we talked about how my week with Jake might play out. Our conversation, however, was oddly superficial. He suggested some touristy place that we might go -- an open-air carnival, a few large parks, even maybe a boat ride on the Thames.

We held hands on the way to the room that I now thought of as mine. My pajamas and robe were already laid out across the foot of my bed and the lamp on the bedside table cast a warm glow.

"Your room, ma'am. I'll let you change and get ready for bed. You can have the bathroom first." He turned before he shut my door and said, "Mind your foot on that bench. He has a violent temper for a church-goer."

My toes throbbed at the memory…though it might be worth the pain for another foot "exam" from Edward.

* * *

I took my time washing my face in the hot water and brushing my teeth. I liked the way my toothbrush looked next to his on the counter and white foam dripped onto my chin when I smiled.

* * *

Alice was sitting Indian-style on my bed when I came out.

"Good time tonight, Bella?"

"Of course. He really went all-out. Our evening was perfect. He had the best bottle of wine, the view was amazing, we danced. He even got us into the Savoy Theater and played for me. I can't imagine what girl wouldn't have been swept off her feet."

Alice giggled. "I'm so glad you liked it. He put a lot of thought into it and wouldn't let anyone help him. I even offered and I am the best event planner. I mean, even if it's just two people, a date is an event."

"This one certainly was. But, he could've brought take-out to my flat and our date would've been fabulous. He is the best company in the world. I just hope he had as much fun as I did."

Edward answered from the doorway, "Oh, I don't think that was ever in question."

"Good night, Bella." A quick hug and Alice headed towards the stairs. "Tell her about the house, Edward."

He rolled his eyes. "Yes, I would forget."

"So, I guess it is safe to say that, at least for tonight, that 'a good time was had by all'? And by 'all', I guess I mean us."

"Yes. A perfect evening. I will spend the rest of the week basking in the glow of our outrageously perfect date. Just promise me that the next one will be less trouble?

"Less trouble…tough to promise where you are concerned but I will do my best."

"Very funny. So, anyhow, tomorrow…I am going to show Jake around and maybe go to dinner. But I'll be back here around eight or so. Does that sound okay? Or do I need to occupy myself longer than that?"

"It sounds…barely okay. Can I make a case for seven?"

I could feel my cheeks warming as he flirted with me. "I don't know, can you?"

He brushed his mouth across my knuckles and winked.

"Seven it is, Mr. Cullen."

He pulled the covers back and I slipped beneath them, leaving the arm nearest him out. The pull-down service was quickly becoming my favorite part of staying at the Cullens'.

I drifted off wondering what house Alice was talking about.

* * *

Jake and I stood amiably, looking out at the storm-agitated waters pounding First Beach. A moth flitted to land on my shoulder and Jake swatted him away.

I was homesick beyond words and the miserable, drizzly weather wasn't helping. Neither was the throbbing from the recently-sutured gash on my left hand.

He turned to me and asked, for the nine-hundred ninety-ninth time that day, how my hand was.

"Ugh. It's fine, really. I can probably take some more Tylenol by the time we get back to the house." I grimaced; not a convincing garnish on my lie.

"Okay. It hurts a little, but thinking about it won't help. Let's talk about something else."

"Whatever you want, Bells." He thought for a second and then moved seamlessly to what was quickly becoming his favorite topic -- his next meal. "I can smell the food on the grill from here. That smells amazing, doesn't it?"

"I don't smell it, buddy. Are you sure you actually smell the food and you're not imagining it because you're so hungry? I've been listening to your stomach growl since we stepped out of the forest and into the open."

He was constantly eating something and had grown a foot since I moved to Forks five months ago. No sophomore had a right to be so tall already.

"Who did your stitches? Dr. Cullen again?"

"Yeah. I don't scar when he stitches me up like I did when the ER docs in Phoenix used to do it. He's really good."

"I keep trying to tell my Dad that but he won't listen. He always goes all the way to Seattle. He says that if it's worth a trip to the doctor, he's going to a good one. So backwards. You're living proof he is a good doctor."

"What's that all about, Jake? It seems kind of prejudiced. And that's not like your dad at all."

He looked fidgety and embarrassed. "I'm not supposed to talk about it."

"Oh. Did Dr. Cullen hurt a patient? Is it like a malpractice suit or something?"

"Oh no, nothing like that. It's just…it's just an old story. It's not even true."

Anxious for any news about the Cullens, I pressed him. "I won't tell…you tell me everything. How do I not know this?"

"I told you, I'm not supposed to talk about it."

After an awkward silence, Jake stopped and took me by the shoulders. Looking me dead in the eye, he said, "You swear you won't tell?"

"Of course. I will not tell a soul."

Jake proceeded to tell me about how his tribe, the Quileutes, descended from wolves. Not actual wolves, but wolves that transformed into men. They were more like werewolves.

They had one natural enemy -- the cold ones.

Jake's great-grandfather was said to have made a treaty with a particular pack of them, a treaty that had never been broken or reversed. These cold ones didn't hunt the way others of their kind did. They were not supposed to be a danger to humans. As long as they stayed away from Quileute lands and the local humans were safe from them, the tribe wouldn't expose them to the blissfully ignorant pale-faces.

They claimed to be civilized and to want to help humans but Jake said that the Quileute elders knew better than to believe that.

The cold ones could give in to temptation at any time and the human nearest would pay with his life.

After Jake told his story, I asked, "So, the Cullens are supposed to be 'cold ones' like the ones from your tribal stories?"

"They aren't supposed to be like them. They are them."

I shivered. "Hmmm. Interesting. So what are they? What are the 'cold ones'?"

"This is the scary part, they're blood-…." Jake wasn't looking at me anymore, he was looking over my shoulder at something behind me. "Hey, Sam."

I turned to see.

Sam was in the woods not twenty feet behind me and I'd never heard him approach. "Hey, guys. Food's about ready. Sue sent me down to round up the stragglers. Anybody else with you?"

Jake answered him; Sam still gave me the willies. "Nope."

"Cool. I'll just walk back with you kids."

We stepped into the woods and, in the dim, green haze, I lost sight of Jake and Sam. After a few more steps, I was thoroughly lost with no sign of the two of them.

The trail disappeared.

I heard a familiar pounding, getting louder and louder.

The thunderous rhythm was getting closer but I had no idea what to do.

"Jake? _Jake? Jake!_" There was no sign of either him or Sam…_they _must have already gotten both of them.

I began to run.

I could hear familiar voices ahead, I was almost back to safety, when one of them stood in my path, flanked by two more on either side.

Five monstrous wolves, bloody saliva dripping from their razor-sharp teeth, stood in my path. I couldn't lead them back to the others at the bonfire.

I turned and ran the opposite direction., limbs and pine needles whipping my face.

I swiped at them blindly.

I ran right into Edward. I looked at his face frantically. "Why are you here? You're not supposed to be here. Run, it's not safe. Run."

"Bella, you're safe. You're awake now…you're safe. It was just a dream. Sssh. It's okay, love." He was rocking me, holding me to his chest.

I swung my arms again to no avail. Edward had me in his arms….

My eyes snapped open. It really was a dream.

My heart was pounding, I could hear the thudding in my ears. I could feel it slow as he pushed the hair from my face and stroked my head. He began to hum my lullaby to me and I began to feel safe again, there in his arms.

I was safe.

I realized that it was barely past one. I hadn't been asleep that long. "I'll never get any sleep tonight. I'll be a wreck in the morning."

He murmured, "We'll get you back to sleep. Are you okay?"

"Yeah…I haven't had a nightmare since I moved to London. I'd hoped I'd outgrown them but I guess that's not the case." I put my nose to his chest and breathed in my favorite scent in the world. "Thanks for checking on me."

"Bella, do you know what it sounds like when you have a bad dream? I wouldn't have been able to forgive myself if I hadn't made sure you were okay." He paused and then added, "You haven't had _one_ since you moved here?"

"Nope. Not one." I yawned.

"See? Sleepy already. Are you ready to lay back again?"

"Almost."

I snuggled up to Edward, finally calmed, and listened for his heartbeat. He was always so cool, I figured his heartbeat would sound like a waltz. I couldn't make it out, he kept fidgeting.

"Here, lay back, love."

He began to stroke my arm and I drifted off in no time.

I awoke hours later with smoky gray light barely filtering in through the windows. The sun would be coming up any moment. I had no idea why I was awake so early.

My nightmare had been so vivid. It brought back vividly the day Jake actually told me that story.

He'd wanted me to remember…I remembered alright. Somehow, I morphed his story about cold ones and his wolf descendants with the wolves I'd run across right before the dead hikers were found -- my old nightmare.

I had to take a deep breath at the memory.

They couldn't be the _same_ ones, could they?

Jake said the story he told was everything I needed to know about him and Edward.

Clearly, he was aligning himself with his four-footed ancestors and the Cullens with the cold ones. He'd been about to say what he meant by "cold ones" when Sam interrupted us.

I could certainly see now where the cold part came in. I already knew Edward was fast and beautiful and smelled like incense. He didn't eat the same food I did; Jake said they didn't eat humans either? That didn't leave many options.

Jake had been about to say what they were when Sam interrupted. "Blood" something…they were….

I gasped and sat bolt upright, clutching the comforter for some meager protection from the truth.

Someone was standing at the foot of my bed. Edward was standing at the foot of my bed, looking very afraid.

He was afraid of me?

_We wouldn't expose them to the blissfully ignorant pale-faces…._

I hadn't ever heard his heartbeat last night and my ear to his chest made him nervous, he spoke with the perfect diction of someone from a century ago, he never ate, he was faster than anything I knew of and dead cold.

But he'd never harm me. I couldn't say why, I just knew it was so.

I whispered. "You won't hurt me."

"Is that a question?"

"No. I know you won't."

"Are you afraid?"

"No…Yes."

He looked relieved; sad but relieved.

I clarified. "Not that you would make…that you would hurt me physically but that you would leave. You are always trying to leave and that is what would hurt me. I can't imagine how much that kind of pain would hurt."

"There are worse pains, Bella."

"I can't think of any."

He sighed in resignation. "This is kind of heavy pre-breakfast conversation. Maybe after we feed you we can talk details."

"I just need you to know one thing: you cannot run away now that I know. You promised it would be okay if I figured things out on my own."

"I will not go back on my word -- I couldn't leave if I wanted to, Bella. I've been fighting the urge to be at your side for entirely too long. I'm a little panicked but I'm getting the feeling that maybe you are too. As far as our day-to-day goes, you knowing is not going to change that unless you want it to. I promise."

"I can deal with that. So, breakfast?"

"Of course. Esme is already cooking."

All the fabulous meals I'd eaten from her kitchen crossed my mind -- vegetable lasagna, waffles, a packed lunch, cookies, tea, espresso. No one but me was eating all that food!

"She's just cooking for me. All this food is just for me?"

"You can take a doggie bag to Jacob, if it makes you feel better."

He smirked. Did he just make a dog joke?

So did Rose last night.

It was true. Jake really was a werewolf…or they were mocking his imagined heritage.

Edward wouldn't make fun of what they mistakenly thought they were, it would be too insensitive. Which meant that Jake was a werewolf. In London.

I laughed out loud and Edward scrunched up his face in confusion.

"I brought a werewolf to London…." When he didn't laugh, I said, "That's pretty funny, you gotta admit."

Alice popped her head through the door. "Aaoooooooooo!"

I giggled in spite of Edward's dirty glare. "What? He does have great hair…."

"I'm sure Lon Chaney, Jr. would be jealous," he allowed.

"See? It is funny." I was sitting Indian-style just like I had been with Alice the night before, clutching my pillow to my chest and giggling like a twelve-year-old at a slumber party.

Edward warned me soberly. "Quileute wolves are not funny, Bella."

From the hallway, Emmett chimed in. "He smells awful, but that hair does put the Wolfman to shame."

"In London, they are funny, Edward."

"I will meet you downstairs."

He put his hand on the doorknob and stopped. His face was serious as he said, "There is one more thing. I thought it should wait till later but I am reconsidering that."

More secrets? I had laughed my way through Round One of Interview with a Vampire but I wasn't so sure that I was up for more just yet, especially something that sounded so sober. I swallowed the lump of PlayDo suddenly in my throat. "Yes?"

Sitting on the edge of my bed, he murmured a quiet plea. "There's something I'd like to try again, a wrong I'd like to right."

**

* * *

**

**London, 1688**

_October, 1688_

_My dear Sophia,_

_I know I am writing quickly on the heel of my last letter, but you must indulge me just a bit. I am driving the household staff and poor Mr. Cullen ragged with all my requests._

_Requests which are a thinly-guised attempt to distract me while you are away._

_I am not usually so saddened when you take these jaunts but I guess I will blame this on the length of your stay. You are an adult and one of sufficient means to stay in Paris -- or travel on from there -- for as long as you should desire. Your abbreviated childhood trips are a thing of the past and I need to accept that though it is not easy._

_The current political unrest has me worried for your safety. I do so wish you would consider coming home until this is settled. You could make a return trip to France when travel is less dangerous._

_Let me know what you would like to do._

_I enclosed a poem in your last letter and have one for this one as well._

_I have time enough on my hands to write volumes. And I have written prodigiously in your absence but I will just send a tiny verse now. I think Mr. Cullen may poison my tea if I require him to suffer through another set of verses about the now-dormant garden or the blazing fire in the hearth._

_John Donne has quite tickled my fancy and I like disguising important subjects in the mundane. Antitypes are used to such advantage in scripture, I am uncertain about why they would cause such furor. Though, Donne is admittedly risque in his Symbology. I will say no more on the subject to a lady, though I am not so naïve as to believe that you have remained unexposed to these Metaphysical poets. _

_Is my morality too heavy-handed here, dear one? It is but a start, a new shoot that needs some sun._

_I hope this finds you happy and safe, my darling niece._

_With my deepest regard,_

_Wm._

_**The Pearl**_

_To a King, a dalliance, a breathing bauble_

_She adorns a room, an arm._

_Her Virtue he praises until it falters_

_Her collapse now spun as a yarn._

I folded and sealed the letter. If I did not hear from Sophie when Alistair returned, I had decided to go to Paris myself. It was no place for a lady to be alone. Not with revolution on everyone's lips. This was my last letter to her before that.

Well, William's last letter.

* * *

Alistair handed me her response with wordless disapproval.

_October 4, 1688_

_Uncle William, _

_If that bit of verse was for my benefit, you are needlessly worrying yourself and surprisingly heavy-handed in making known your feelings on the subject of Virtue and Vice. _

_I am just now off to a home outside the city for the next few days. Your messenger arrived and I could not send him away empty handed. So, I have enclosed a piece in progress and will send more when I return. _

_Your presence would be a delight here though I understand that you are not fond of trusting your safe passage to the seas. I have been advised that I am in less mortal peril here than in London. If you are agreeable, I should like to stay here until the Crown is settled. I will not stay a moment longer than you allow, I am sorry not to be able to discuss something so important in the comfort of your study. _

_Also, please send me your thoughts on this latest bit of verse. I feel like a ship without an anchor being denied by distance the privilege of your ever available guidance on all things -- especially the written word._

_Your loving niece,_

_Sophie_

On a separate sheet she wrote her poem in more even, legible script, leaving plenty of space at the margins for William's commentary.

"_Eclipsed"_

_Constantly extended, soft blush of night_

_Your lesser radiance, the shadows' sweet light_

_My thanks for it cloaked by an indifferent pall._

"_Of course I partake, love, do not we all?"_

_Midnight I navigate by your frosty glow_

"_This journey's less trouble by daylight, you know._

_Lamp unto my foot, light just not celestial_

_I shall manage by yours, sir, have not we all?"_

_Smoldering candle resigns me to sleep._

_My dreams locked away your constant gleam keeps_

_To keep you at bay, my curtains I've drawn._

"_May the creatures outside give thanks, one and all."_

_Exiled now in daylight unforgiving,_

_Sleep's curtains torn open, dark now unrelenting._

_Cold comfort I banished, leaving me shiv'ring._

_Obscured now by cloud I cannot remove_

'_Til my distemper passes, I haunt the moon._

"Carlisle, my young friend, you have a problem.

"This woman-child smells like a French bakery and was reading Newton when my boy interrupted her. And, from the look of the volume, not reading it for the first time. She fed the little bugger chocolates and found out that the letters came on a commercial packet. She was immediately suspicious -- pupils dilated, heart ran away like a cat on the prowl.

"I had to plant a personal item so that he could go back under the guise of having dropped it. He casually mentioned that the boat owner and her uncle were old friends who ran into one another so she wouldn't look further.

"Your little confection is, like I said, a problem but one I can solve for you, if you need."

I took my self by surprise with the growl that simmered away in my chest, threatening to boil over. "She is not a 'problem' to be solved, Alistair. She is a girl who is the sole family of a genuinely kind man. They are kind people in an unkind world."

I remembered myself and added, "I appreciate your concerns. You are correct about her -- she concerns herself with details too much for me to remain inconspicuous. When she is home safely, I will make myself simply a memory."

The luggage necessary for a trip involving Paris society meant I could not swim the Channel. After assembling the necessities and locking up my storefront, I boarded a packet to Calais.

* * *

**A/N** As always, thank you, Danni, for carving out a space for me. I enjoy my time there.

I will be about another week and a half before the next update. We should be back to weekly after that.

I am, as always, anxious to hear what you think! Please let me know….

Also, I am offering my services for the Fandom Gives Back push that is going on now. If you are interested in bidding or being part of a team, please let me know. I will write an EPOV from an already-existing chapter or something original. Winner's choice.


	12. Chapter Eleven

_Disclaimer: The Twilight Saga and its characters belong to Stephenie Meyer._

* * *

For Z, again.

_Expectation postponed is making the heart sick, but the thing desired is a tree of life when it does come._

_~ Proverbs 13:12_

* * *

**London, 1688**

My preparations to leave had been so rushed, it hadn't occurred to me to consider exactly what I would do in Paris. I couldn't just track her like a witless potential meal and hand over a forged letter from William begging her to return, however much I wanted to.

She'd know it was a lie the moment William saw her, if not before.

She would certainly know before. William had spent too many years allowing her to become an adult who could function even if something else catastrophic happened to her for her to believe that he would pull in the reins now.

Not to mention the fact that she was absolutely correct in her statements about her safety in London being even less certain than her safety in France. From what source was she getting her information?

A reliable one or one who happened to be right once? Even a blind pig chances upon an acorn once in a while.

My trip to Paris was uneventful and I hired a carriage for the duration of my stay. Even if I never used it, the carriage itself was a false witness to the status and wealth I was trying to project for the people I encountered. If I could convince Sophie to return to London, it would serve its true purpose.

Sophie's mother was of French descent and her family was pleased with the opportunity she was giving them to play host for an extended period. They had a home in the countryside just outside Paris and pounced upon the excuse to entertain with great enthusiasm, it appeared. When I arrived at the home under the cover of dark, an intimate supper with forty or so guests was well underway. The conversation centered mostly around the masked ball arranged for the following evening and other smaller events to happen there over the next few days. They had arranged a few days worth of entertainment for the houseguests who would begin arriving that night. It was rumored that the King's recently cast aside mistress might be among the later guests.

I climbed the stone façade, my aiming to find out which room was Sophie's and to get the general layout of who would be staying where. Once I found her room, I realized the ridiculousness of my spider-like crawl across the ledges and balconies.

The magnificent library was lit and easily visible from below. Her room was, unsurprisingly, immediately adjacent.

Once I felt confident that I knew my way around the house as well as could be done from the outside, I began a stealthy descent to the windows of the dining room. Most of the guests were there and I hoped to find out more details about the next few days. Sneaking into the masked ball seemed my best bet and a formal invitation to the overblown event seemed irrelevant.

I'd gathered all the information I needed for the evening and knew I should leave. But I was willing my body to do something it wouldn't. I kept listening for her voice. Such a silly notion, that hearing her voice would make a difference one way or the other. If she were missing or unsafe it would've been mentioned; I would know by now.

I remained motionless, listening intently for the comfort of her voice, but it never came. She was never silent; what was wrong?

I began a silent circuit of the house, listening for her voice, her now-familiar heartbeat or even a sigh. Outside her room and outside the library window, I could hear the rhythm I sought. Its owner, however, remained out of sight. The familiar swish and throb were muffled but not far away, somewhere just inside.

Her bed chamber and the library were empty of any visible human inhabitants.

I rattled the window of her room, hoping she might check for the source.

No such luck for me, but it did give me another idea. I tapped on the window again with no response from inside. After a third try with no response, I inched the window open and stepped inside.

The familiar scent washed over me, anointing me for the task at hand. I couldn't bear for her to be unsafe. The sweet smell and percussion accompaniment were physical confirmation of her well-being; my presence in the room was no longer warranted.

Nor was my presence appropriate. What would she think if she found me? What would someone else think?

_Leave, Carlisle. You have no place here, no right._

I turned to go and my hand brushed against a still-warm pile of silk.

I drew my hand back as if it had been burned, as if I'd been singed by the dinner dress, and looked at the offending garment. I recognized it immediately. The collar, bodice and overskirt were the color of Bordeaux in candlelight. It made the emerald flakes in her eyes flash and her pale skin incandescent.

Her body hadn't been out of the dress long enough for the fabric to have cooled to the temperature of the room, another indicator of her certain health and safety.

And yet, there I stood, transfixed by the memory of the rustling pile beside me. I remembered that she and William had been invited to a dinner a few weeks before she departed. The invitation was extended with the sole purpose of interesting Sophie in the family's second son. The underhanded goal was never stated out loud but was patently obvious nonetheless.

I suggested she wear the wine-colored dress because it suited her, a mistake I was soon made to regret. She asked me why I mentioned the particular garment and I told her, a tacit admission of either a perfect memory of even the most mundane details (something I didn't consider a likely theory in her mind) or my inordinate interest in her bodices (something I had no business being interested in).

She'd worn a blue dress to the dinner they'd been invited to attend.

Two nights later, she'd worn the burgundy dress and a necklace of Oxblood rubies to a dinner at William's. The polished cabachon rubies caught the light and begged for my attention with every turn of her head or swallow of wine. When she'd turned to speak to the guest at her right or left hand, the teardrop that dangled from the ear exposed to me and the line of her neck had been offered up tantalizingly.

Dark red spilled down her neck to pool and splatter around her collarbone. One large cluster dipped particularly low and I'd glanced at its shadowed farthest reach only once that evening. Every gesture and laugh had become a taunt as the bloody jewels played in the light and slid across her skin. Human food was usually a certain cure for thirst but it had done nothing for me that night.

I'd all but asked for the vision before me that evening; I would take my strokes like a man, I'd decided.

I'd distracted myself by turning over in my mind the coincidence of her choosing that dress for that night. Had she been intending to wear it all along? Was it simply a compliment to the good taste of another friend?

Or was she looking for attention from me?

She never acted the way other women did when they were looking to be noticed. I came to no conclusion about it, that night or any other.

Without regard for its whispers of protest and warning when I bothered it, I picked up the empty garment with both greedy hands and buried my face in the bodice that I'd fought so hard to ignore on a night not so long ago. As I breathed in the heady perfume, all my senses perked, ready for a hunt I would never condone.

The perfect rhythm that had lured me to trespass caught my heightened senses once again. She was behind a panel of wood to my left, but not far away.

The door to the room next to hers was open. I'd seen the hallway that would be outside Sophie's door in my clandestine searching.

She was between the library and her quarters. I walked to the wall and sniffed along it until I found the cleverly-hidden hinged panel.

I heard her heartbeat stutter.

I froze.

I could hear her standing, loose folds of soft cotton falling straight, bone and muscle slowly returning to a standing position. I dropped the dress and jumped to the window sill. The yard below it was open and I was afraid of being seen so I perched above, closed the window and waited for my chance to escape.

If I had a heart, it would have been a cannon blast in my ears.

_All this for the bouquet of a wine I would never drink?_

The window creaked open. Her heart was hammering out the violent thunder I'd imagined hearing in my own ears not a second ago. She drew in a breath, wind whistling down an empty hall.

"Carlisle?"

I had to remind myself that she couldn't see me. Even if she looked directly at me, it was unlikely that her eyes had adjusted enough to realize what she was seeing. I willed myself to stay put.

She whispered my name again. "Carlisle."

It wasn't a question this time.

"Carlisle. Just come out. It has to be you. No one else…it can't be anyone else."

I could've touched her hair had I wanted to. I wanted to…had I allowed myself to.

And now that I'd entertained the notion, I could think of practically nothing else. I realized that I'd never touched her hair. I'd touched her hand.

I wanted to put my hand over the heated rivulet above her collarbone and feel the difference in that living thing and myself.

I just wanted to touch her but I knew it wouldn't stop there. The glistening drops at her throat wouldn't be ruby cabachons if I started down that path; physical desires were almost indistinguishable for me.

I'd never felt more like a monster than I did in that moment. How could I think of her as less than a lady, a niece, a mind that challenged my own?

She would not even be a conquest; she'd be a meal.

Nothing about my sudden urge to lay my hands on her made sense. Where had it come from? She smelled better to me than most humans but nothing unmanageable.

_Close the window, Sophie! Put your head back inside and close it. _

I could hear her mumbling, unsatisfied. No words, just noises of irritation and confusion.

"I wounded your feelings…I wounded my own. Defend yourself and disillusion me." Then she added, "Please."

She was not a meal, a means of slaking my thirst.

I crept soundlessly up the window above me and crouched a safer distance away on the roof. The wind was cold and I realized the she must be freezing. Her head disappeared into the room and then she came back. She stuck her head out and looked right and left. The she looked straight up, right at where I'd been clinging moments ago.

If she had my eyesight, she might see the gouged surface of the ledge bricks, evidence of where my fingers had been moments ago.

Without any warning or obvious reason, she put first one foot and then the other on the sill. Using the frame for support, she stood and opened the window wide. My eyes were wide with fear.

I would jump if she did; I would catch her before she fell. I didn't have an ounce of hesitation or a moment of pregnant consideration. The thought came to me as a simple statement of fact.

I had to swallow back an audible gasp of horror.

Was that her intention? To force me to expose myself?

She whispered, "Thou shalt not put thy God, the Lord, to the test."

I sighed in relief and said a silent prayer of thanksgiving. She made her point. Trying me with evil was ungodly and selfish; she wouldn't resort to it.

But still she stood there.

She stood motionless for a few moments more, her thin cotton gown whipping at her ankles. Her hair blew forward and swirled around her face. From my gargoyle's vantage, she looked like an angel.

* * *

I followed Sophie to the dressmaker's the next morning. Her mask and gown were ready and all she needed to do was try them on for the fleet-fingered old woman. She'd retired from the couture scene in Paris and worked solely for Sophie's relations.

I kept quite a distance between the two of us, trailing along in the trees more for information than because I thought she needed anything from me.

I certainly acquired information.

Lingering in the woods nearby, I heard the approach of a group of vampires. I'd met pairs before and one threesome, but never a large group. It sounded like four of five.

My intentions were not to hunt here or encroach on their territory so I fought the instinctual urge to take a defensive posture. I stayed upright, casual, hands at my side.

As they drew close enough to see, I reorganized my features into something resembling a smile.

They had the appearance of a very civilized group and one man seemed to be a leader.

"Hello. I am Carlisle."

I hadn't yet grown accustomed to the appraisal other vampires gave me when we first met. These four seemed world-weary and jaded but interested.

The leader stepped forward. "Hello, friend. It would appear that animal-feeders are not a myth." Sunlight filtering through the trees played with his pale skin, dark hair and almost-black eyes. He was thirsty.

I nodded.

"I am Tristan." Tristan's accent was obviously French, though my French was poor enough not to place it further. I was relieved he spoke beautiful English, his native tongue only softening the words around the edges. He indicated the once-swarthy man on his left, "This is Etienne." His olive skin was evident even disguised by our common pallor.

"And this is my Amelie." A tiny blonde stepped forward, her curls arranged in such a way that gravity surely cursed its own shoddy work. She offered a graceful hand and I took it.

The other male spoke. "This is my Claire." The willowy woman offered her hand as well.

Introductions thus accomplished, I said, "I am not here to encroach on anyone's territory."

Tristan laughed. "That much is quite evident. We maintain a residence near Paris and resist the urge to hunt among the gentry. They entertain into the early morning so often that we remain among them for the entertainment value."

"I don't understand."

Etienne interjected. "The later they stay up, the more they drink. And the less they notice. At a masqued ball, we are all but just like them."

"They can see your eyes."

"They are so shadowed, no one notices. We stay for a few dances and move along to the next soiree."

I was shocked. Their behavior was so fraught with risks. "That hardly seems worth the risk."

Tristan offered, "Just come with us…you don't even need the mask, friend."

A squeal of delight from the dressmaker's cottage caught my attention and Tristan's expression changed. "Or were you already planning on attending, Carlisle?"

"I was, as it happens."

"You have human friends."

"Of a sort."

"That's…different."

"Being an animal-feeder is solitary business and I am no good at solitary yet. They are a diversion."

"Aren't they, though?" Something about Tristan's tone rang false and I was immediately anxious to end our interview.

"So, I will try to run into you all late tonight?"

The two females smiled. Etienne said, "It will be a pleasure, I'm sure."

Tristan said, "Until this evening."

I was turning the exchange over in my mind, within eyeshot of the cottage this time, when I heard another approach. Was I on a marked footpath and somehow unaware of it?

"Carlisle, I was unkind when you revealed your interesting way of life and I wanted to apologize. I am sorry for the reaction, it is simply a surprise to actually meet one of us who doesn't drink from humans."

I smiled and nodded at Tristan. "I understand. You have a mate to take care of; you have every right to be wary of the unknown. No hard feelings."

He looked past me at the cottage at my back. "I can certainly see the advantages of being around humans regularly."

I turned to see what had caught his interest and realized before I saw what might entice him to change his mind.

"She is a lovely specimen, Carlisle. You have my approval."

I cannot imagine that my disgust was entirely hidden but I tried not to attract any undue attention to my friendship with the Copelands. "I am here to see her home safely."

He chuckled. "Of course, of course. Well…I look forward to seeing you and your ward this evening."

* * *

For the first time since my arrival, I went back to the rooms I'd taken for the next few days.

At twilight, I walked back to the woods and went for a run. It would do no good to arrive before the masque began; I certainly had no attention of eating with them. I glutted myself on deer and fox before returning to get ready for the ball.

As I'd suspected, gaining entrance to the event was no trouble. I handed my overcoat to a footman and walked right in among the party-goers. A glass of champagne seemed an appropriate thing to have.

My full glass and I walked to a corner to observe the proceedings before I committed some faux pas.

I took in the room under the guise of examining my champagne.

Instead of a single room, I saw hundreds of tiny versions of it bathed in amber light, floating towards the surface of the beautiful liquid. I turned the stem in my hand, mesmerized by the effect and was nearly overcome by the vision that appeared as I turned.

Instead of one exquisite Sophia Copeland descending the central stair, I was treated to a myriad of that sight from as many different angles. Her velvety brown hair had been turned into the centerpiece of a patisserie window, ornamented with jewels that my champagne gilded further.

Her gown was red silk brocade, the pattern a deeper color than the background fabric. Her mask was the lighter red.

At her neck were the Oxblood rubies.

Through my champagne, I saw her perfect throat covered in drops of blood a thousand times over.

Too quickly, I brought my glass down, superstitiously trying to rid myself of the thought. Her eyes found mine immediately and saw through the mask. She practically marched across the room, a lovely young cousin or friend having given up following after a few hurried steps.

"You came. I knew you were here."

"Miss Copeland." I bowed.

She barely curtsied. "Monsieur Cullen."

I smiled at her attempt to keep me on my toes. "Je ne sais pais Francais, mademoiselle."

"Clearly, Carlisle." She took a breath and then added in a low voice, "I cannot believe you are here."

"Is your disbelief at my welcome presence or my inordinate presumptuousness?"

One side of her mouth raised in a smile. "Both, I believe. I will reserve judgment until I find out what could tempt you to leave London."

"Have you had a glass of champagne, Miss Copeland?"

"Shall I put yours out of its misery? You seem to think it is a toy rather than something to be consumed."

A familiar scent pricked my nostrils before the satiny laugh confirmed its source. "He does have that tendency. How lovely to see you again, Monsieur. And who is your lovely friend?"

He was right, his eyes would be practically black to a human behind that mask. "Of course, Monsieur…?"

"De Villiers."

"This is Mademoiselle Sophia Copeland. Mademoiselle, this is my new friend, Monsieur Tristan de Villiers."

Sophie extended her hand. "Mister Cullen makes friends so quickly. It is lovely to make you acquaintance."

"The pleasure is all mine, be most assured."

"I was about to ask Mademoiselle for a dance." I held out an arm for her to accept or decline. "If you'd be so kind, I would love to dance."

Sophie looked momentarily confused but, mercifully, said yes. I took her to the side of the dance floor as we waited for the current dance to finish.

"So, Mr. Cullen, what brings you across the Channel? You were interrupted by your new friend."

"You cannot think I am here for some obscure reason."

"I am not privy to your confidences. I would not presume to understand all your motivations. Are you here for business?"

"Yes, business brings me here."

"Anything interesting to a simple girl?"

I had to laugh. "Not likely that you would ever be considered simple. But, it's a pet project that brings me here."

"Personal business, then?"

The song changed and saved me from answering. She allowed me to lead her to the dance floor and the price of whisking her from underneath Tristan's gaze loomed.

I reminded myself that this was not the same set of circumstances that caused me to flee from her bedchamber the night before. I had been close to her before and not wanted to sink my teeth into her neck, I could certainly do it again for an evening.

An evening?

I could certainly manage to not drink from Sophia for a dance.

She stood across from me as we waited for the music to begin. As we stepped and twirled among the other couples on the dance floor, I found myself imagining for that brief moment that I was a human boy dancing with a lovely girl, wondering how soon I could tempt her back to the dance floor with me and how often I could divert her attention from anyone else.

The time was as fleeting and fragile as champagne effervescence, but my perfect memory preserved it permanently for my perusal. Her hand in mine felt like a stolen object, a thing at once coveted and illicit. Her cheeks colored enticingly with the activity and her heart rate picked up. I could smell the vanilla-and-cream aroma warming to caramel, something uniquely Sophie.

Were I to suddenly lose my senses of sight and hearing, I could follow the trail of her perfume without a bit of trouble. I'd never lose her.

But, soon enough, I knew would have to walk away from her. And walk away from William and the rest of my new human acquaintances.

Lightly, as if to get my attention, she cleared her throat. "Are you quite well?"

I realized when I heard her question that I'd been dancing with my eyes closed, reveling in the sounds and smells: the touch of her hand, the rub of the gold against her skin, the soft rustle as layers of silk passed over one another.

"I am very well; simply enjoying this moment. I don't believe I've ever had the privilege of a dance with you, Miss Copeland. It is certainly a treat."

"Why do you do that?"

"Do what?"

"You are so unflappably polite, no, more than that…you are invariably charming. It is so inconvenient, so disarming, you know."

"Then I apologize for any inconvenience to you." I scowled dramatically. "Would that be more appropriate? More convenient?"

She giggled like the girl that she was. "Yes, thank you. Menacing makes it easier to be angry with you."

"Of course." We continued, dancing and scowling for a moment. I wanted to ask her why she was angry with me, just to make sure we were understanding one another, but Tristan and his coven were here. Knowing too much was unsafe for Sophie.

I changed the subject.

"I will be here for a few weeks. If you would like to return home, you and your chaperone may certainly travel with me."

"That is why you're here. I'm not leaving until talk of revolution has died down. I would say that you can just tell William that, but I have a suspicion that he knows not of this endeavor of yours. He thinks revolutions come with an engraved invitation."

"I hate to squabble, Mademoiselle, but I believe this one did. William of Orange received one from the Immortal Seven."

She laughed again. How many times could I procure that sound from her throat?

"You are entirely correct. But I don't believe my uncle is sending for me. You are sending for me."

She eyed me warily. "And, what claim do you have over me?"

None.

"I would worry about any of our friends if they were away from their family while I knew there might be warships crossing the Channel any day. I am sure that is no surprise to you." In a quiet voice, she answered, "No. No surprise, Mr. Cullen. Always thinking of everyone else."

She withdrew and we finished our dance in silence.

We parted ways and she mumbled about the cousin she'd left waiting. Tristan was back at my side in a moment.

"That sillage is more delectable than any potion contrived in all of Paris. I would like to be her footman just to revel in it. Perhaps you could make a game of it, she could blindfold you and you could follow that scent to its source. Can you imagine the cloud of scent when she unlaces her stays?

"Ah! You certainly do have impeccable taste, Carlisle."

"We do not have that kind of relationship. She is the niece of a friend and I am here to make sure she arrives home safely -- sooner rather than later."

"So that is how you move around among them, you relocate frequently. Where do you feed in towns?"

"I take a run or a swim. I've had a few close calls but no accidents."

"Well, there are dozens of vampires in Paris. It is such an easy place to blend in at night; nothing of note takes place in Paris during the day. Please come join us one evening, my friend. I will introduce you to our friends."

"I will remember that when I travel your way."

"Please look us up if you venture back into Paris. Keeping up with a human girl is a boring task, you are welcome to ride out any inconvenient sunshine in our apartments.

"Bonsoir, Monsieur."

"Good night to you, Tristan."

The other three members of his coven were waiting for him and they waved on their departure. No doubt they'd heard our entire exchange.

Sophie was walking away from them and, as their paths crossed where hers had taken her, Tristan closed his eyes and inhaled rapturously. I swallowed back a growl of warning; being territorial would only inflame him.

As if she sensed his presence, Sophie turned and bid him adieu with a wave and a smile before continuing on to dance with the very nervous young man beside her. A sheen of sweat was already visible on his forehead.

Standing next to a pyramid of champagne glasses were three young married women, one of them the sister of the young man.

The most striking of the three, a petite raven-haired woman with large, dark eyes said appraisingly, "She is pretty enough, in her own way, I suppose, but who will marry a girl who talks about such nonsense all the time? She is more suited to a salon than a ballroom, though I'm not sure anyone would suffer her opinions there either."

Almost imperceptibly, the golden-haired matron to her left clenched her square jaw and relaxed it. Her sharp blue eyes narrowed and the brow over her left eye arched dangerously. She rearranged her features into something more placid but she couldn't suppress the flush of irritation creeping up her long neck and across her round cheeks. Her tone was jesting but her words were not. "You are so difficult to please. She is lovely, in anyone's way. And I believe you are right about the salons. She said herself that she was homesick for the little salon she attended in London and wanted an introduction to one here. You know my husband and his endless academic papers -- I think he might be just the person to get her into one."

"Well, even so, you can't be happy about her sinking her claws into your brother."

"He has talked about no one else all evening. She has neither trifled with him nor vied for his attention. If either of the two of them are sinking their claws into the other, I think he is the one who'd like to initiate sinking his, um, claw, into her."

She winked at her catty companion and the silent woman blushed.

The catty woman chastised her with a closed fan to the shoulder. "You and your entendres, Anais. You should be ashamed."

She smiled enigmatically. "Maybe I should but my husband has no complaints."

A drop of champagne fell to her chest and disappeared quickly from view. She laughed. "At least I have not added another stain to this lovely gown. I need a bib, like a baby."

I made sure to introduce Sophie to her before I made my excuses sometime close to dawn.

Alone at last in my rented rooms, I reviewed the night's events and tried to put together another plan for getting Sophie away from Paris and its endless covens of jaded vampires.

How many vampires were "dozens"? Fifty? Two hundred? I shuddered and vowed not to let her out of my sight until she returned to London.

I had a job now and I wasn't sure how successful I'd be as the nocturnal guardian of a diurnal angel.

* * *

**London, 2009**

"There's just one thing I'd like to see…before I spend the day away from you. If that's okay?"

I swallowed thickly, suddenly nervous.

I nodded.

He walked to the edge of my bed and sat down facing me. With one hand, he stroked my face from my temple down the length of my cheekbone.

I sighed.

His thumb traced the plump part of my lower lip. Knowing now what he wanted, I simply fell. I was no longer aware of the day or the time or the very sobering conversation we'd just begun.

He wanted me. He wanted me as much as I'd wanted him all this time and the details would fall into place around that centerpiece. I knew they would.

Not because I knew everything would work out okay, wrapped up in half an hour like some sit-com, but because every other detail was less important and would have to deal with its secondary assignment.

His hand moved from my mouth to my hairline behind my ear and I swallowed again. His nose brushed mine.

He held his face there and breathed in. "Be very still. Don't move."

My lips tingled and I could taste his sweet breath in my mouth. I'd been so anxious to get my lips on his last night that I'd missed this part, this not-quite-touching. The searing anticipation was as exciting as the kiss itself.

He was killing me. I wasn't sure how long I could see him, taste him, smell him and not feel him.

He exhaled and inhaled again. "Bella…."

He lowered his chilly lips to my fevered ones, moving them slowly against mine. They were as sweet as I'd remembered them to be the night before. I put the pillow I'd been clutching to the side and touched his cheekbones with my hands.

I wrapped my hands and the nape of his neck and shimmied from underneath the covers into a crouch and settled onto my knees.

His mouth made more friction against my own and I scooted forward with my legs touching his. He leaned back against the mirrored headboard and I leaned with him.

"So much better than breakfast."

He chuckled and pulled his feet up onto the bed. I put a knee on either side of his lap and it occurred to me that I was kissing him just like I'd told him I wanted to.

It hit him at the same time I think and he whispered, "Look at the mirror for me." He leaned me back and I looked up at the wanton brunette kissing my Edward's neck. Her bed hair was rumpled and the top of her pajamas dipped dangerously low, almost off one shoulder.

She gave me a Mona Lisa smile and winked.

Edward growled.

"You can see _that_ well?"

"Can we talk about it later?"

* * *

I thought I was making headway in convincing Edward that he didn't need to leave with Emmett. I'd written the text of apology to Jake and was perfectly happy staying in all day with Edward.

He insisted he needed to leave with Emmett before the sun came out and I laughed.

"It's not what you're thinking…I'll show you one day soon."

I had a new hobby and just parting from him long enough to shower pained me.

Edward kissed me good-bye two or three times at the gate to my place and I floated to my apartment.

I opened the door "Good morning…."

Jake was already awake and reading on my couch.

_Reading?_

"What are you reading?"

"Your paper on Sophie and William Copeland."

"You are?"

"Why didn't you tell me this was what you were coming over here to research? I could've been helping you all this time."

"What the hell are you talking about? I told you I was writing a thesis on two seventeenth-century poets and you glazed over, bucko."

"Yeah. Poetry is the way to catch my attention. Why didn't you tell me it was about vampires?"

"How--"

"I heard you and loverboy outside. He's not the only one with good ears. You bring my doggie bag, smartass?"

I giggled. "Okay, now that everyone's, um, out of the closet, so to speak, can I just say that I feel a bit inadequate? I'm slow, dumb, can't hear the whispers and am ages behind on all the secret-keeping."

He shook his head. "Oh, Bells. Don't ever think that. You are perfect. We're the monsters, I don't care how he tries to pretty it up. He's a damned monster and he fights it every day. He's dangerous."

"He keeps telling me that…hoping I'll run away, I think."

"He's not as big a douche as I thought he was."

"Watch it."

"Right. Anyhow, your paper. You had no idea what was going on?"

"I still don't, really. Edward and I didn't get to talk about it much this morning before he had to go."

"Well, let me enlighten you."

* * *

A/N: My French sucks. My Spanish is significantly better and it is still an embarrassment. The French I do have I picked up between flipping crepes and swilling Beaujolais in the kitchen of a woman with a storied past from a black and white film. I was there more for the old Hollywood glamour and her grandson than the French, hence the poor grammar.

I do say "merde" in polite company when I injure myself (more often than one would suspect).

My Francophilic beta is trying to help but the mistakes are most certainly my own.

Clementine (justduckie on FF and Twilighted, justduckie1 on Twittah) is the team leader for the Metaphysics FGB team. PM or DM her if you are interested.

My husband is beginning to suspect that I am not as "into" pinching my fingers between giant Travertine tiles and mixing mortar as I am writing fanfiction.


	13. Chapter Twelve

_**Disclaimer: **The Twilight Saga and its characters belong to Stephenie Meyer. What I've done to them is my own._

* * *

**London, 2008**

Why was everyone in on the secrets but me? Jake just got here and already he knew more about the Cullens than I did. "You don't have to be smug. But by all means, Jacob, enlighten me."

"I'll talk while you fix my breakfast, okay?"

"I better not be getting the short end of the stick here because Esme's waffles are pretty fabulous."

"Don't remind me of where the food came from, just warm it up. The leech-stench is pretty overwhelming as it is." He scrunched up his nose. "Do you have any of the letters from these people you're researching on you? I'd like to test out a theory."

"Yeah. In the envelope in my messenger bag. My hands are dirty, you can grab them."

He pulled the envelope out and I realized that I didn't have gloves big enough to cover his mitts. Edward's wouldn't do. "I don't know what to have you pick them up with."

"I don't have to take them out."

What? "You don't?"

"Nope. I just need to check something." _If he has x-ray vision, I will scream._ He opened the envelope and held it under his nose, rendering my screaming unnecessary. He just held it there for a second and then he breathed in. He sniffed it, like Edward had the letters in the Copelands' library.

I heard a growling noise come from his chest. "Your, your…Edward isn't the only vampire that had their hands on these pieces of paper."

As shocking as it was to hear the words aloud, I was pretty sure I was already aware of that fact. There were quite a few nebulous connections that knowing Edward's big secret would firm up. Dominoes were about to fall, I feared, and I prepped myself for the dozens of tiny ambushes that might be waiting for me throughout the coming hours, maybe even days. "Yeah. I think that Sophie's uncle must've been a vampire…I'm still working on that theory."

Jake looked at me, momentarily confused. "I don't mean a vampire touched these letters a couple hundred years ago, I mean one leafed through these recently. Like not long before you touched them last."

_Oh._ "The two in the envelope were not part of the letters I'd been reading with Edward until yesterday. I went to the Copelands alone and they'd been planted in the box with the others for me to find while Edward wasn't around."

He eyed me severely, the same look Charlie hit me with when I went hiking alone. "You went there without him? I'm not going to be in his fan club anytime soon but going with him is better than running into a vampire we don't know while you're alone. Do me a favor, Bells. Don't go to that place alone again. Will you promise me that?"

I nodded but remained uncommitted with my words. "You and Edward both asked me that."

"What did you tell him?"

For his part, Jake was having none of my avoidance. "I didn't tell him anything, I just said you'd be with me today."

"And what are you telling me?"

"I will take the advice of two trusted friends into consideration."

I knew I was pushing his buttons and still I couldn't help myself.

He narrowed his eyes. "Seriously?"

"Fine, I won't go. Unless I can't get someone to go with me."

"Someone will go with you. No one minds, stubborn girl. We'll make sure it's no inconvenience to you."

I placed the waffles, sausage and warm syrup in front of Jake. "Milk, juice or coffee?"

He took too long to decide and I poured him a glass of milk. Without skipping a beat, he began wolfing down the feast in front of him and "enlightening" me.

"So, your poems you got there: you came all the way across an ocean to research two dead poets just because you needed something to write a paper about? Is that what happened?"

I huffed. "You make it sound so ridiculous. But, yeah, I guess I did. Sophie just felt so real to me, like someone I went to school with or worked with for a summer. I felt like she was trying to tell me something…I know you think it's stupid. But, if I'm going to spend this long in school, it needs to be doing something I can really invest myself in. If I love what I'm learning, I'll be a better instructor later."

He swallowed his bite of waffle and put down his fork and knife. "Bella, it doesn't matter what I think. Hell, it doesn't matter what anybody else thinks. You want to be here. Fine. Be here, and be happy about it. I shouldn't have said it like that, like I was trying to belittle your research. It's very cool that you're over here doing this." He gestured at the envelope of letters with his syrup-coated finger.

As an afterthought, he added, "What I meant to ask was if the Cullens tried to get you here with this."

"No. Actually, Edward seemed kind of weirded out by it. Alice was excited to see me but Edward seemed irritated at first."

"But he's clearly not now."

I blushed. "No, I guess not."

"That wasn't really a question. His leech-reek is all over this joint. I was going to sleep on the couch but I couldn't stand it. Your bedroom was better. Not entirely free of him but better."

I sighed, mildly embarrassed and not a little irritated. "Really? We're going to do this?"

He held up both hands, gesturing his innocence. "Simply a statement of the facts. I wasn't going to editorialize on them."

_The point, Jake?_ "So, what can you tell me that I don't already know?"

"Your girl poet, Sophie, she met a vampire."

"Yes. I think I figured that out when I remembered our conversation on First Beach about the cold ones. You were about to say the word 'vampire' when Sam interrupted, right?"

"I was. I knew you'd remember."

"I'd figured out earlier this week that Edward and William had the same secret. I didn't know what that secret was, just that whatever they were hiding, they had it in common. So, figuring out Edward's secret was the same as figuring out William's."

"And you think Sophie knew it as well?"

"I am on the fence about that. Her theory is more fleshed out than mine because she noticed way more than I did. But I operated for a while only knowing bits and pieces, knowing the symptoms without understanding their source, so it's possible she didn't know. Had I the inclination to write a poem about my experience with Edward, I might've included some of the same details and imagery as Sophie and William.

"Edward is as protective of me as William was of Sophie. His eyes and skin and scent are the same; he avoids the daylight. I knew all those things without knowing the reasons for them."

"Okay. But what about the eye color? That's a big freaking deal, you know?"

"Yeah but even if their eyes don't look like ours, it's not like they stand in direct sunlight so people can inspect it. It's a giveaway if a person is really looking, sure."

He cocked his face to the side, confused again, before he clarified. "Not that the yellow eyes are different than human eyes -that their eyes are different from other vampires."

"They are?"

"Yes. But your quote definitely says 'golden' so we know one more thing 'William' had in common with the Cullens."

"Are the ones that eat humans darker- or lighter-eyed? What's the difference?"

"Most vampires have red eyes - some shade of red. They are like the Cullens in that the hungrier they are, the darker they get. But the red is really freaky-looking - a dead giveaway. Most vampires can't get too close to humans without being found out."

"How do you know that?"

Jake looked at me, expressionless.

And then it dawned on me. "Oh."

"Anyhow. What I meant to get at is that her uncle isn't a vampire. She couldn't have been raised by a vampire without knowing something was up. Think about it. They don't eat. Sunlight is a dead giveaway that they are different. He wouldn't age, wouldn't change his appearance. Over the course of ten or fifteen years, even the dumbest kid would figure it out.

"Your Sophie isn't dumb. 'William' is an acquaintance but not someone who raised her.

"In fact, the idea of writing poetry this intimate to someone you are related to is creepy. Like _Flowers in the Attic _creepy."

"Why would you know _Flowers in the Attic_?"

"I had sisters, remember?"

I cringed. "Right. Still weird."

I thought about his very valid point. "You don't think the 'William' she's writing is her uncle?"

The look of distaste on Jake's face wasn't because the food offended his palate. "Longing for your uncle is weird, even if he is your only family. I don't think she's writing her poetry about him."

"Who is she writing about, then?"

"I have a theory but I'm not tossing it out without some more investigation. And some permission."

I rolled my eyes. "You freaks and your secrets. Stop telling me what you're not going to tell me and tell me something you can tell me, dammit!"

"Okay, okay. I'm sorry, you're right."

Clearly facts that were on the table weren't too easy to come by. After a moment of thought, he found one. "Um…oh, right! I can tell you this: I've never heard of vampires who only drink animal blood aside from the Cullens. Like, never. All the vampires we've run across are red-eyed. All the ones in our Quileute stories are red-eyed.

"That's why our elders knew the Cullens were different. Those weird yellow eyes."

"Never?"

"Never."

I began to understand Jake's theory. "How old do vampires get?"

"Bella, have you talked to Edward at all since you put the vampire thing together?"

"Not really. I had to meet you this morning. It's bad, isn't it?"

"I can't answer that question for you. I want to answer it, but I don't think I need to tell you what I think." His big, dark eyes pulled me in, pleaded with me to see reason. It was far too late for that exchange, even silently.

Jake seemed to understand that and moved to a slightly different, if related, topic.

"I heard you guys on your way in - not on purpose, I just do. So, anyway, when are you leaving for that house in Kent? I want to go, if that's okay."

Um, awkward. "I'm not sure…."

"Is it like a holiday for the two of you? Aren't Alice and Jasper going too? If it is, I can go on my own, alone."

He was serious. He wanted to find out more about these letters enough that a weekend in the country with me and the vampires was worth it. "What? Why would you want to do that? I'm going to read some more letters and maybe learn some more about what Sophie has to do with the Cullens. What's your interest?"

"Bells, I know that Edward will protect you as best he can from any outside danger. Whoever or whatever had their hands on that envelope is more interested in Sophie, William, you and the Cullens than I am comfortable with. They wanted you to find the information they planted.

"Edward could've found those notes and never told you. He might think he's protecting you or whatever…I don't care why, all I know is that he is in a position to hide clues and you aren't. Not only does your mystery guest know that, it's what they wanted to happen. I want to know why."

"Maybe they don't know that… I wouldn't know all that about you and Edward if you hadn't told me. He isn't hiding stuff from me, Jake."

"I didn't say he is. I said he could. Bella, that letter doesn't smell like a regular human planted those clues. The scent is old but it is vaguely vampire. Any kind of monster would know that, not just the monsters you associate with."

I looked up from studying the very interesting interior of my mug. "There are other monsters?"

"Yes. I thought they were extinct but I'm finding out every day that Quileute legends are more factual than I gave them credit for being as a child. I'm going to call home and ask-"

"Oh, no! Don't let Billy tell Charlie something's wrong! Please, I don't want him to worry."

"I'm going to call Sam and see if he has any ideas. He won't tell anything I don't want him to. He's good like that, I promise."

I nodded and walked mutely to the kitchen sink.

If all the myths of Jake's childhood were true, I couldn't help but wonder how many of the myths from mine were.

As I cleaned the kitchen and made sure I had everything together to head to the Copelands', Jake questioned me about William and Sophie. Every now and then, he'd pick the envelope back up and sniff and a new round of questions would begin.

He was obsessed, almost as much as I was.

I began to question what precious little I knew about the Copelands under Jake's interrogation.

Yes, William Copeland had a niece named Sophie. Yes, he became her guardian and an Earl after the deaths of her parents and his. Because a title was passed on, I knew when William died. Sophie's death was a giant question mark.

Edward said we might find something at a courthouse near the house we were visiting, maybe even her grave's location. A gravestone might lead to a cause of death. At the very least, it should indicate a year.

Both times the Cullens had lured me into a cemetery here in London, I'd secretly hoped her grave would be there. Sadly, that hadn't been the case. Maybe one day in the next few weeks it would be, but until then I was left with no facts.

I did know that there was a significant gap in the time between William's last poem and his death. Because the poetry of both uncle and niece ended around the same time in early 1691, I'd operated under the same theory most scholars had - the letters and poems were stored together and had been ruined or lost.

Now even a lack of information seemed significant - and baffling.

Jake wanted to understand the moth imagery and, when I told him about my fight with Edward over his attempt to throw me off, he had to wipe a tear. Me telling a vampire off seemed to be something he was interested in seeing. The fact that Edward simply "took it" entertained him immensely.

"Hey, stick around and you can be on the receiving end of my ranting at a werewolf. I don't discriminate…unlike the rest of you."

"Man, I get to see Sam and Embry be abused regularly. But they're all im- , um, in love and they just roll over and play dead. Not unlike your boy, I suppose."

"My boyfriend?"

He rolled his eyes and indicated his impending nausea with croaking noises. "Yes."

"Eventually, you're going to have to say it, Jake. He's my boyfriend. And, eventually, you and I have to have a conversation. I kind of get it now but I know that I don't get all of it. The weirdness between the two of us won't go away until you tell me why you bailed on me."

"Yeah, I know. We could do it now if you want."

"I…we need to leave. Later, after lunch?"

"Sure, Bella."

The Copelands' housekeeper was equally impressed by Jake and gave me a conspiratorial smile. I didn't look like a girl who dated more than one guy at once, did I?

Maybe I just looked like a connoisseur of fabulously hot research partners. It's a dirty job….

Jake played the part of intellectual surprisingly well. He used my notes and began reading again as soon as I started working. He said he needed to play catch up.

I wasn't sure where all the sudden interest came from but I was certainly grateful. And a little bit suspicious. I'd never seen him read anything that wasn't sports-related - Sports Illustrated or the game scores in the newspaper. And while he knew stats on every player from every team that ever played in the great state of Washington, his academic career had been forced drudgery, a sort of work-release program for him.

But he dug into my thesis as if it were his own and was gaining ground quickly.

Jake asked me to lay out the letters in my "finished" box and sniffed them.

A murderous expression mangled his features when he raised his face.

"Some vamp is very interested in what you're doing here. And I'm smelling something faintly, it's very old, just on these few letters. I can't decide if it is vampire or not. It's too old and it doesn't sting my nostrils but it does have that too-sweet candy smell."

"Edward was pretty angry, I think, when he smelled that one as well." I pointed to the letter that sent him racing from the room a few days ago.

"So, you avoided my question earlier. About the house you're going to with Edward. Can I tag along? I think I could be helpful."

"Do you think that's such a great idea? Already Alice and Jasper are going, do you really want to be saturated with their - what did you call it -'leech-reek'? That sounds like a problem just waiting to happen."

He considered my protest. "I'll be cool, I promise."

A few seconds later, he added, "How 'bout this? Talk to your boyfriend and see what he thinks."

Did he really just call Edward my boyfriend?

Immediately, my phone buzzed. Edward's name appeared on the screen.

**

* * *

**

**London, 1688**

In the days following the masqued ball, I maintained a perimeter around Sophie but kept my distance. She stayed close to the house and spent a great deal of time in the small space between her room and the library. Though I couldn't exactly pin down the reason for feeling so, I got the very distinct impression that Miss Copeland was avoiding contact with me.

So when, four days after the ball, we were invited to a salon to "ease our longing for home," I was anxious to see her face, hear all the tiny sounds that indicated her vitality.

I arrived on the heel of those just late enough for French fashion. Those inclined towards drinking would have already been one or two cups in and I would seem even less conspicuous. The subject, of course, was politics and I was actually interested.

The ladies at this gathering were outspoken for all their manners and I couldn't help thinking that Sophie would fit in better here than in London.

It appeared that William of Orange had an invasion fleet equipped and ready to sail at any time. Some heard rumor that he'd already done so. The threat of such a contest to the Crown convinced James to shore up what support he could and he'd dissolved the "Commission for Ecclesiastical Affairs."

That body and its ridiculous illegality were the subject of the evening. The presumption that such a man as King James could be God's means of caring for his earthly subjects was openly amusing to the French and I found myself checking for anyone who had the look of a spy.

I had to remind myself that the French could say what they chose about the King of England with impunity.

The difference geography could make in such a discussion astounded me. This conversation, treasonous a short boat ride away, carried on without any self-consciousness, with no reason to check one's thoughts before airing them in a crowded room. The obvious influence of thinkers of this newly scientific age wove itself in and out of the still nearly medieval thinking of some. On the other end of the spectrum, many were openly rational in their critique of James' failing rule.

I noticed that Sophie had entered and overheard her being welcomed outside the room. If my entrance had been fashionably late, hers was couture straight from the court of Louis XIV. She seated herself in the chair offered not far from mine and I fought the instinct to immediately turn my head to inspect her.

Why was I so concerned with her welfare? This obsession had escalated so quickly.

With my barely functional French, I understood the man to my left say, "He learned nothing from his father and he is so influenced by the friends of his wife."

A reply came from Sophie. "Then he should choose his friends with greater discretion. Why should the principles that apply to all of us not apply to the monarchy as well? Newton established that gravitational force is a constant, and we can see that it applies equally to insects and elephants, why cannot the same be true of moral principles?

"Of course such rules must apply to us all."

She was no longer referring to James, I feared, and I excused myself for a drink.

The silvery rays of the moon glittered on the small lake just beyond the glass doors at the side of the room and most of our group had given up on standing outside once they opened the door and saw little white wisps of their own breath.

Since the air was too chilled for the others to be on the balcony, I crept outside for some untainted air, air that didn't scorch my throat. From below me, the noises of the kitchen drifted up and I could hear the water splashing in the small stocked lake on the grounds. I craved the silence and solitude of the water though I couldn't remember the last occasion of such a longing - maybe to escape the thirst for human blood the first time I ventured into London? I'd spent the last forty years longing for company and I'd finally overcome my bloodlust and awkwardness enough to have it only to wonder if the reward was worth the price.

Was my being here a mistake? Was I destined to slip up, to do more harm than good, to always feel more isolated because I was not quite like them?

I was standing ramrod straight in the cold October night contemplating my tortured existence when Sophie opened the door. Her presence brought into sharp relief the contrast between my behavior and human behavior. A human man, worrying himself over something important, would be slumped over, possibly with his elbows on the balcony rail, his head in his hands. I must look ridiculous. What did my posture convey to her?

"Mister Cullen." She curtsied.

"Lovely to see you again, Miss Copeland. It is quite cold, are you certain you wouldn't like to go back inside?"

Her head snapped up and I realized she would take offense. "Yes. I am quite certain."

"Of course. How has your visit been?"

"My family has been most hospitable and they've used my visit as an excuse for more parties than a month of fasting in sackcloth would undo. They think I am in need of a gentleman to distract me from some imagined duty to William and so they are throwing me in to the path of every gentleman in Paris.

"I don't know another way to say 'no' so I am just enjoying the food and the company."

I laughed politely at her attempt to amuse me, to let me know I was off the hook. What I wanted to do was question her at length about the paths she'd been thrown into. What if they weren't deserving or appropriate company for such a young woman?

She continued. "How has your visit been? Is your 'pet project' turning into a profitable use of your time?"

"It is always a pleasurable use of my time, if not profitable.

She arched her brow and pursed her lips crookedly, though subtly, an expression of mild irritation that was unique to her face.

I changed the subject. "But business is tedious…tell me about your writing. William showed me - very proudly, I might add - a poem you wrote before we parted ways. Was that a lark or are you very serious about writing more?"

Her heart thrummed feather-light and quickly. Her eyes widened just a bit and her lips parted as she exhaled, first in fear and then in understanding. "Uncle William showed you? Of course he did. I knew something drastic made you leave your nest. And I knew better than to send it to him. I just didn't have anyone else….

"What did he make of it?"

"He thought it was beautiful and that you had already been jilted in Paris by some fickle Frenchman."

"No! That is…_amusing_. I wondered what he was going on about in his last few letters. He thinks I am foisting myself upon Parisian society with greater determination than I gave London's. Well, I need to send him a letter so that he knows I am well and of good cheer. I can't have him worrying over me. Although, now that you are here, I might as well head back."

Something about her expression was wrong, insincere. She was baiting me. "Don't leave on my account. Warships could be in the Channel any day. London could be a battleground."

She seemed unmoved and my instinct about her motive proved true. I gave in. "I'll only follow you if you do something so risky."

Her shoulders slumped a little, the weight of carrying this baggage all these years showing in her posture. "Carlisle. Please. I don't understand all this concern over my welfare. Why me, why now? Why could not my parents have been saved years ago instead of you hovering over me now? It seems so unfair.

"What makes my life worth more than theirs?"

Since I had entered their lives, neither Sophie nor William had lamented their own loss. William hated not having a wife to mother Sophie and Sophie felt that William avoided women to keep from having to ever choose between his wife and his niece. From what I'd gathered, they were both correct.

They hinted by their actions at their personal sacrifices for the other but never at their sadness over the family they'd lost.

"I can't answer that for you. All I can say is that what happened to your parents was a tragedy and I know you are worth whatever it takes to secure your health and happiness. They weren't worth less than you; they were just in the wrong place at the wrong moment. I would imagine that they would want you to have a long, healthy, happy life. Give them that. Don't be unhappy because you feel guilty that they aren't here."

"That is very kind of you. What do you think would make my parents happy to see me do?"

If I'd had those answers, I would've handed them to her on a silver platter. "I didn't know them but I would imagine the same things that make all parents happy - for you to have a family of your own and pursue something you love."

Her eyes were glassy and her pitch rose dangerously close to crying while her volume lowered to whisper something that sounded like a secret. "A wise old man once told me not to marry a man if I felt I was smarter than he was. He said that it would be hard enough to subject myself to the wishes of a man, much less one that I knew better than."

"That certainly narrows the field but it doesn't mean he wasn't on the mark."

"I was very interested in a handsome young man at the time and I think he was trying to dissuade me from the attachment. His judgment was certainly better than my own."

The glassiness had settled into puddles laced in moonlight sitting on her bottom lids. She blinked and the action coated her lower lashes in starlight and tears. She thought I didn't notice - a human probably wouldn't - and I was having a hard time acting as if that were the case.

The green of her eyes brightened against the color of their new irritation and her lips plumped and reddened as well. Her cheeks streaked with color.

Something about this release, a release my new life denied me, caused my heart to feel like a flimsy garment in the rough, practiced hands of an old washerwoman. It twisted, contorted until every drop of humanity it could spare was forced to the surface.

I remembered.

I remembered the awful, sickening, powerless feeling of watching a woman cry. Tears of mourning, of joy, of heartbreak: the type of tear didn't matter when it fell.

And it did fall.

A single tear welled up and rolled off her bottom lid. I couldn't see the drop slide down the side of her face she angled away from my own, I simply saw the tidal rise and fall of saltwater in one corner of her eye.

My silent indecision tipped my hand.

Sophie smirked wryly. "Tears are a sure way to clear a room - or a balcony, in this case - of masculine company. I am a mess and I cannot account for my motive in coming here tonight. Sorry to thrust them upon you to be dealt with."

"You owe me no explanation, Miss Copeland. And you have earned the right to a few tears."

"I am afraid that my recent fits of…_temper_ obligate me. The idea of something akin to my life back home was obviously appealing and I did so want to see a familiar face, your face, this evening. But I didn't mean to subject you to my melancholy." She wiped the wetness from her cheek.

She teetered on the cusp of confessing something important to me and I found myself listening to the conversations inside and the noises beneath us to make sure no one was within earshot. I didn't hear a human outside the structure.

I could, after chasing her for miles and biding my time lurking in the shadowed periphery, sort out absolutely what she knew from what she guessed and be out of her life.

Protecting her until she returned to London could be done invisibly.

I sniffed and the breeze made sure I only caught smells from behind me. The lack of information about the woods in front of the balcony made me overly alert, my every nerve buzzing for stimuli. No reason to waste all my patience with a mistake now.

Sophie continued. "I am beginning to realize that you shouldn't be held accountable for my recent crisis over divine justice, no matter how relevant your-"

I heard the inhale. Someone couldn't fight the instinct to test the surrounding air and, like the click of a gun in an empty alley, the tiny noise gave them away. It wasn't the rhythmic, humid breath of a human. It was the careful, desiccated sampling of a vampire.

My reaction to their mistake could mean her life.

In a fraction of a second, I shed the yielding humanity I'd reveled in momentarily for the impermeable skin of a vampire. I was calculating - "cunning as snakes, yet innocent as doves" - in my next actions.

I took her face in my hands and brushed my thumbs across her cheeks. The sudden, intimate contact was a shock to both of us. For my own part, I expected the action, if only long enough to command my limbs to function, and the surprise was the feeling itself.

Sophie Copeland was stunned to silence by the shockingly presumptuous gesture. Her much slower human reactions needed more time to assimilate the sensations I'd already processed.

She flinched in surprise and then thawed visibly. She felt like potting clay, smooth and malleable.

The spun silk of her hair shifted and writhed under my fingers like a living thing in its own right, hissing a Medusa-like warning to my trespassing fingers since she was stunned mute. Heat shot to her face and her pupils dilated. She regarded me with shock, her breath bated for my explanation, I feared.

In pulling her face towards mine, I turned it away from the woods.

I could hear her shallow breaths quicken at the stress and knew she would be light-headed soon. The blood that coursed through her veins and arteries roared like a river swelling over its banks. Her scent began to caramelize and I knew I was pushing her too far.

My few precious moments of silence thus purchased, I began pulling my hands away, thinking frantically of how to ask her to continue holding her tongue without indicating to our unseen companion - Tristan, I had no doubt - that I interrupted her because of his presence.

She leaned ever-so-slightly into my left hand as I pulled it away and I dragged my index finger across her mouth and planted it there for a brief moment. My father had put his own finger to his lips in a similar fashion to shush me a hundred times, and my action brought the memory back.

I felt her lips move under my finger as if she were going to say something that started with an "O". What was she going to say?

I would have to live with the suspense.

Inclining my face forward and to the right, I parted my lips as I'd seen other vampires do. Their quarry would lean in for a kiss, heart pounding, neck exposed, and they would drain them without a fight.

From the woods in front of me, I hoped my approach appeared the same.

The few seconds since I'd interrupted Sophie had been stretched and misshapen to the breaking point. I was afraid she couldn't be dazzled into silence for much longer.

I paused and breathed in the scent of her hair, tried to look as if I were torn and reconsidering.

Leaning back, I looked again at Sophie. My finger had not moved from her parted lips. She was absolutely still - as still as any human could be.

When I met her gaze, her eyes squinted and her forehead scrunched in an unspoken question. And then they relaxed slightly in partial understanding. She inclined her head forward almost imperceptibly and closed her eyes in what I hoped was an indication of assent.

Her shoulders relaxed, she looked as if she'd just survived a battle and I wanted to tell her, to confirm for her that she had. Maybe then she would look as if she'd won it.

I removed my hands from her slowly. In so many ways, I felt like an insect mired in tree sap.

My mind, my reactions, my senses were all better equipped for stress than hers. Somehow her years of practicing social niceties won out over my raw instincts and she found her voice before I did.

She squared her shoulders and smiled her first-dance-of-the-night smile. "Again, Mr. Cullen, I should know better than to thrust my unhappiness on the first willing ear it finds. Could I impose on you on another, more appropriate, way, perhaps?"

"Of course."

"I am going to write William about my silliness." She gestured dismissively. "Perhaps you could see that the letter is taken to post tomorrow? Could I expect you after tea?"

"It would be my privilege, Miss Copeland. Can I get you something warm to drink, maybe?" I indicated the doors behind me.

"Please. I've gotten a chill out here."

We rejoined the party indoors without incident and the evening continued without acrimony for the first time in weeks. Our silent conspiracy had made friends of us once again.

At twilight the next day, I found myself being escorted to the music room of Sophie's great-aunt. Sophie and her cousin were waiting for me.

After declining supper, citing a nonexistent previous engagement, I made haste to my rented rooms to coax the seal from her letter to William.

It began:

_My dear Uncle William, _

_I am beginning to realize that you shouldn't be held accountable for my recent crisis over divine justice, no matter how relevant your existence is to the matter. That our lives have been thrown together is…._

Those were her words to me on the balcony, the ones I'd cut short by putting my hands on her. She completed her thought, her statement _to me_, that she'd begun on the balcony. The statement I cut off. William Copeland had never been her intended recipient.

Had he?

Regardless, he wouldn't be receiving this letter. I read it as intently and replied to it as thoughtfully as any epistle ever intended for my eyes.

She continued:

_That our lives have been thrown together is a conspiracy of coincidence, someone being in the wrong place at the wrong time, as you said._

_I_ said that to her, not William.

_It has bothered me for years that I have had my life to live, under your generous protection, while they lost theirs. Who should have been their protector? How could he have failed them so?_

_My distress has been directed at you, a sad irony, when I should be nothing but thankful for your presence. I am sorry. Could we make amends, maybe try to get to know one another as adults? _

_Anxiously awaiting your response, whatever it is,_

_Sophie_

* * *

_A/N_ I concur with Sophie, "anxiously awaiting your response, whatever it is."

Clementine is organizing the FGB team for Metaphysics. The winning team may pick their own poison. I will write an alternate POV from "Metaphysics" or another Twilight one-shot entirely. Clementine is justduckie on Twilighted and justduckie1 on Twittah. DM or PM her if you are interested.

Clem and Danni, thank you very much for the hand holding. Clem, sorry about your trees. Danni, sorry about the priest. I'm crossing my fingers for hot French neighbors (and I don't mean croissants)...


	14. Chapter Thirteen

_**Disclaimer**: The Twilight Saga and its characters belong to Stephenie Meyer. The rest is my own._

* * *

For Lady Coco Marmalade.

I don't think I need to tell you why.

I hope you like waffles.

* * *

**London, 2009**

Yet again, Edward's timing proved itself uncanny.

"Your ears must be burning, Mr. Cullen. We were just talking-"

He interrupted my banter. "You're okay?"

"I'm perfect." I barely had time to answer before he started with more questions.

"Ask Jake if everything's fine."

"I would know if I weren't okay, Edward."

"Humor me, please."

Without putting my hand over the mouthpiece, I stage-whispered to my new study-buddy. "Jake, are we fine? Edward wants me to ask you. In addition to lacking your Spidey-senses, it appears I also lack the ability to notice when I am in distress."

Jake rolled his eyes at my theatrics before he vouched for me. "Everything's on the up-and-up here, Edward."

"So, you mind telling me what this is all about? Anonymous tip called into headquarters?"

"No…it's derivative of something I planned on talking to you about this evening. I'm sorry to ambush you in the middle of your day. What were you doing when I interrupted?"

"Jake and I are talking about his newfound interest in seventeenth-century poets. He is _so_ interested, in fact, that he'd like to be part of our field trip to the house in Kent this weekend. He wanted to ask you if that would be okay."

"That does explain the 'anonymous tip called into headquarters,' then." Alice chirped away in the background and I couldn't tell if his next words were for me or to fend off her verbal onslaught. "I need to…yes, Alice. No. I said 'no' and I meant it. I'm sorry, Bella. She wants to talk to you before I do and I am having none of it. Just tell Jake it doesn't sound like a problem but I need to iron out some details with Jasper first. Can you wait to give him a solid answer until after we spend some time together this evening?"

"That sounds fine, I guess. I'll see you in a few hours and we can make better plans then."

"Looking forward to it, love."

I turned to Jake as I put my phone away. "So…you're in, it sounds like. But he wants to chat with me before I give you a firm 'yes.'"

Jake look as surprised as I was. "Excellent. So, where were we?"

"I was getting ready to grill you about your sudden interest in poetry and history and vampire weekends."

That earned me a smirk and a nod. "Yeah, I'm scaring myself, if it makes you feel any better. I can't pull myself away from this. And I am surprised that seeing you with Cullen doesn't piss me off more - because it damned well should make me irate. But my anger melted away this morning over breakfast, probably after hearing him with you outside, being so nice even when it was just the two of you, not even acting jealous. When you came in, you looked like you'd just exited Cloud Nine.

"All I can see, now that he's not herding you into a cemetery for what looked like some kind of ceremony, is that he cares for you as much as you do for him. And, don't be mad or take this the wrong way, but I feel sorry for you because you are about to have to make some tough decisions. Believe me, I know."

_Does he really think Edward cares for me as much as I do for him? Now doesn't seem the time or place…which reminds me of something. _"Can I just ask now? You've brought the subject up, sort of, and I don't want to wait - what happened? With us, I mean."

I knew this conversation would be uncomfortable. Talking about it when the subject came up of its own accord rather than forcing it later might make it less awkward. He'd spent years successfully avoiding this conversation, years industriously dodging it because, as I now realized, there were things he couldn't discuss with me. However, nothing stays cooped up that long without the telling being pretty painful. I winced at the thought.

He nodded slowly. Even so, he didn't say anything.

After an awkward pause I spoke again. "I was pretty pissed with Edward when I got here. I haven't had the chance to tell you this story and I think you would enjoy it, as much as you like hearing me tell off vampires."

"Sounds interesting. Do tell."

"I know you remember the story about him saving me from the runaway van in the Forks High parking lot - Charlie told everyone. Anyway, after that, he ignored me. Like, totally pretended I didn't exist unless it was to keep me from falling or tripping or otherwise injuring myself."

"I hate to interrupt so early on, but if he were there for _all _your klutziness, he was definitely not ignoring you. I mean, you two would've spent a lot of time together - you know what I mean?"

I nodded, rolling my eyes at the inevitable "clumsy Bella" joke. "Yeah, I know. Just go with me. He was giving me the silent treatment, I promise. And then he shipped off to school in Switzerland."

"He ne-"

"Wait, I'm not finished. When he arrived here, I assumed it would be more of the same, especially since he had to catch me after a run-in with a doorjamb his first morning on campus and promptly smarted off. So I let him have it, on more than one occasion, and told him to leave me alone if he was just going to ignore me later. I told him it hurt my feelings too much for him to be all hot and cold.

"And then he apologized for it." Jake was beginning to wonder where I was headed; I knew I needed to get to the point soon.

"One night, I got turned around leaving a pub and I ran into the Cullens: Alice with Jasper; Emmett with Rose; Edward all by himself."

Finally, understanding dawned for Jake as I continued a heavily-edited version of the evening's events. "I told Edward that his situation reminded me of you with your friends on the reservation. All those disgustingly perfect couples and then you, singular. He just looked so lonely compared to them and I felt that way about you sometimes."

Jake smiled sadly. "That is why I love you so much, Bells. You don't see what people want you to see; you see what's actually there. I don't like sugar-coating things and I never have to with you."

"So, what's with you monsters and your soul-mates? Something is definitely going on there."

"I couldn't tell you before, I wasn't able because it is a rule of being a wolf - you can't tell anyone, not even your family or closest friends, and there's just one exception."

"And I wasn't it." I didn't actually have to ask so the words came out as a statement.

"I kept hoping…but no. Some of us who turn into wolves - I thought it was just a few, kind of a freak accident - imprint on the person we should spend the rest of our lives with. It's not awkward, there's no wondering. It's just like the way you know how to breathe or swallow. It's vital but no one ever has to teach you how or tell you why it's important. You just know. It simply happens because it has to.

"The catch was, _everyone_ imprinted. Within a few months, every single one of the pack had imprinted but me and Leah."

I laughed at the too-simple solution for the enigma that was Leah Clearwater. "I wondered why she put up with you guys and never seemed interested in hanging out with the wives and girlfriends. Usually, significant others are snarky about hot tomboys who are 'just one of the guys.' None of them ever seemed that way about her.

"If I didn't know that story about Sam breaking her heart to be with Emily, I'd have thought she just wasn't into guys."

He laughed but he wasn't amused. "I feel sorry for all the testosterone she has to wade through daily. That and other…stuff."

Talk about a boys' club…Leah was definitely in one. "Yeah, I'd bet."

"So, we didn't imprint. The stories all said that imprinting happens almost immediately after meeting the person you will imprint on. I'd known you before I starting phasing - that's what we call it when we change - so I thought maybe I needed to be around you after. And then I thought maybe something else needed to happen…I kept putting off the truth.

"And the truth was, if I imprinted, it wouldn't be on you."

He locked eyes with me. I didn't see what was so significant about that. "So?"

"If I imprinted on someone else, I would break your heart."

"You could never do that to me."

"It's not a choice…I…." The words weren't coming easily for him. After taking a breath he started again. "Sam did it to Leah. That's why he broke her heart. There was no fight, no reason, just, 'Hey, random destiny change, it looks like. The Magic Eight Ball says I'm gonna spend eternity with Emily instead of you.' Can you imagine how bad that would suck? I couldn't risk doing that to you so I left before we got too involved."

He bowed his head and cradled it in his hands. When he spoke his voice cracked. "And I'm sorry. I loved you and I left anyway and I'm sorry."

My eyes stung and I felt hot tears gathering. All this time he sat on that because he had to. Leaning forward, I brushed my hand through the hair at his temple. "Jake, I'm sorry. But I'm glad you were strong enough to make the choice I couldn't."

Finally, he lifted his head to look at me. "What do you mean? You'd never be in the same position. Imprinting doesn't leave you a choice, you can't decide to do it or not do it. If that were the case, you and I would've run off into the sunset long ago, Bells, and you'd never be in so much danger. I wanted it so badly."

I ignored the comment about me being in danger. I hashed that out with Edward frequently enough. "Why _do_ you imprint?"

"We're told that it's to help us. The pack are protectors of the tribe, we come and go at weird times and get crazy injuries. Even though we heal fast and don't need as much sleep as you, explaining all that goes on to someone who isn't allowed to know the secret would probably be impossible. If you imprint, the gag order is lifted because anyone bound so tightly would never leave or do anything to harm you. We can tell them everything.

"My dad and I have this theory that more of this pack imprint than other ones because they will need the support. We've already seen more vampires in La Push than older packs.

"I hate to admit it, but now I don't know how someone in the pack could be with a person they hadn't imprinted on."

If two people could be right for one another, they could just as easily be wrong for one another. "If there's a purpose to imprinting, I must not be meant for you."

He nodded slowly, begrudgingly. "I was beginning to think that by the time you left for London. But, what did you mean about me being strong enough to make a decision you couldn't? This isn't your choice, it would never be."

I sighed, choosing my words carefully. "I just feel like I'm meant for Edward, like it was always that way. I was too young and insecure to understand that idea in high school. Hell, even now he's had to spell it out for me to make me believe he could want me the same way. I think it's always been the case - that I was meant for him, even all those years ago - but I wasn't quite up to the task at the time. I couldn't stand up for what I knew was right in my heart. But you did.

"I was too uncertain of myself to know then that he was my other half. Do you think a plain old human can imprint, Jake?"

He shook his head. "Aww, Bells. Don't say that. I know he really cares about you, I can see it. But he's not kidding when he says being around him is dangerous to you. The smallest mistake on his part could end your life. Are you really willing to risk that?"

"I don't have a choice. Looking back, I don't think I ever did. I've loved him since the first time I laid eyes on him. I couldn't stop thinking about him from that second on. Even when I hadn't seen him for years, I dreamt of him. It was always him and I can't convince myself, no matter how hard I try, that risking my neck every day isn't worth it, if that's what being with him means.

"Like you said, I breathe him. I don't even have to think about it."

"Bells, the whole reason the pack exists is to protect the tribe from cold ones. I don't think a human and one of them _can _be together. This is an exercise in heartache, and I'm expert on the subject."

"I have to try."

"You don't, actually."

"Jake, even you tried."

"Learn from my mistakes, Bells. Don't make new ones. If something were to happen to you because of this…I would die avenging you, I swear."

"Don't even think that. He wouldn't ever let something happen to me. All he's ever done is keep me safe. Do you think we are imprinted?"

"No, you didn't imprint. Vamps mate up for life but it's not always as healthy as what wolves do. I'm just saying that from what I've observed. Ask Edward, he'll know more, I'm sure, living with three couples. But the simple answer is 'no.'"

"Fine. I didn't imprint."

The library became densely silent, tension muffling the words I wanted to say.

_I love him, Jake. I love him and I'd rather risk my physical heart each and every day than know certainly that it would stop beating if we were separated._

Saying that, I knew, would force Jake's hand so I kept my trap shut.

"All the sudden, this place feels claustrophobic. Can we blow this popsicle stand?"

Question number nine-hundred-ninety-nine: _Why do monsters dislike enclosed spaces? _

I answered Jake. "Absolutely."

* * *

We ended up in a huge park. For all that it was cold, the day was beautiful and clear and I could use some sunshine. Jake caught me up on La Push gossip - who'd finally gotten married, who'd had babies, where their new homes were. For the first time, his happiness for them seemed undiluted by loneliness.

I couldn't explain it. It was as if someone had flipped a switch in him. Since breakfast, he was a different guy. The chip on his shoulder had been lifted.

My conversation with Jake at the Copelands had gone surprisingly well. He was disturbed over my relationship with Edward and rightly so. It _was_ a disturbing concept, a predator courting its prey. Jake's entire existence centered around protecting people like me from cold ones and every time we talked about Edward and me, I could feel him fighting the urge to physically move me to safety like a kid swallowing back their gag reflex on a roller-coaster.

I wondered how much longer he'd be successful before he retched.

We walked along a picturesque little lake, deciding what London sights he wanted to take in before heading back to Forks. As two girls our age approached, jogging, Jake laughed softly.

"What's up?"

Pointedly, he looked at the two girls and their heaving chests. One had on a jacket and tank top, the letters "UoEM" printed across the almost-overstuffed ribbed cotton, and the other's heather-gray tee advertised embroidered stools, I think - what else would Ladies of the Thread do with stools? Jake, too, was obviously interested in what their tees advertised. "There are advantages to all this freakishness."

I refused dwell on how far away Jake could be from a moving - bouncing - target and still nail their cup size. "Um, duh. You guys can do all sorts of stuff I'm jealous of."

"Don't be jealous, Bells. But, for now, do be entertained."

Before my eyes, Jake transformed. He didn't change clothes or rearrange his hair, but in a tangible way he looked like a different person. He seemed charismatic and mysterious, like he was in on something that anyone would want to be a part of. Hell, I already did.

He threw in a sexy grin for the benefit of our female onlookers - and they were definitely looking - before they approached. As they jogged past, grinning wickedly, he said, "Do all the women in London discriminate against sexy American guys?"

Oh, this would be entertaining alright. Watching cocky boys get their just desserts was always entertaining. I shook my head apologetically at the two girls.

They giggled and turned towards us. Dammit.

An impossibly posh accent answered, "I said you were _probably_ a sexy American. We hadn't gotten close enough for confirmation. And, no, I certainly wouldn't discriminate. My mum would be ashamed." She was eyeing me, clearly not wanting to be disrespectful if Jake and I were a couple, and admitted no definite interest in the rake questioning her. I approved already.

He extended a hand to them. "Well, we certainly wouldn't want to run the risk of angering your 'mum'. I'm Jake, by the way, and this is my friend, Bella."

Introductions were made and Jake quickly procured a dinner date for the time I was with Edward. We would all meet up for drinks afterwards.

I wasn't sure what to make of this Jake and his newfound undeniable charm. But he was right about one thing - he was entertaining.

* * *

Edward picked me up right on time. His family was conspicuously absent when we arrived at the Cullens'.

My ears strained against the silence to hear evidence of Xbox or a movie or even the page of a magazine turning. "What's going on around the Cullen residence this evening?"

"Emmett took Rose to their new home today and everyone has gone to check it out. I helped Emmett move in earlier and they're all just seeing it for the first time this evening."

Edward took a deep breath and, trying to sound casual but just falling short, "So, you and I aren't sharing a house with a dozen prying ears."

I swallowed nervously. Why was I nervous? We'd been alone before.

_Breathe, Bella._

"That's great."

Immediately Edward noticed my hesitation. "If you're nervous about being alone with me now, we can go to a restaurant or a mall…." He looked disgusted with himself.

"No. I'm not afraid. I just, um, I want to talk but I…." I started over. "It's fine. I'm an idiot."

"You're not an idiot, Bella. What is it?"

I took a breath; this was immature and archaic. I invited him into my apartment and didn't mind being alone with him before. The connotation seemed so different all of a sudden.

I was on a fishing expedition before. Now I wanted to straddle him on the piano bench…or the couch…or in front of the mirror again. But it might be a bit soon for that.

If my neighbors talked about me now, it might actually be true.

"The idea of being alone with you is different now that we are official. When you objected to coming into my apartment because you didn't want to sully my reputation, I thought it was silly. But now I realize I thought it was silly because I didn't think anything would happen between the two of us that I wouldn't leave the front door open for.

"But now…now I think I might be more interested in closed-door activities. I just realized it when you said we were alone and I know I don't have to decide which ones I'm interested in this very moment but I'm…" _Um, I'm rambling. That's what I am, Bella. I'm rambling._

"Does it help to say that I am not sure what to make of being alone?"

I exhaled in a very unladylike way. "It does, surprisingly."

"Getting rid of some mystery might help as well. Do you want to go up to the library? Esme made supper for you. I'll bring it up and tell you a little about the Cullens."

I walked up the stairs by myself, putting my overnight bag in my room before meeting Edward in the library. A table for two was waiting. Technically, a table for one but there were two chairs, a bowl of tulips and a pitcher of iced tea.

"Esme thought something familiar would be in order and made black bean enchiladas."

"They smell like they are perfect. I used to make them all the time for Charlie. Definitely comfort food for an Arizona girl."

As I spooned sour cream onto my plate and began eating, Edward began to talk. He told me his story.

Edward Anthony Masen was born in Chicago in 1901 to Edward and Elizabeth Masen. He remembers almost nothing of his parents. Towards the end of World War I, he and his mother were admitted to the hospital where Carlisle worked. They were both sick with the Spanish flu. Dr. Carlisle Cullen took care of the Masens along with hundreds of others sick and dying.

Whether Edward's mother guessed what abilities Carlisle had that other physicians lacked is not certain. What is certain is that her dying wish was for him to do for her son "what others cannot do."

Carlisle had been alone for many years by that time and had considered seeking a companion. When Elizabeth died later that night, he took the two Masens to the morgue. In the confusion of a hospital besieged by epidemic, not a soul noticed that one of the two bodies housed a beating heart.

Carlisle took Edward home with him, wondering if the boy would even make it to his house outside town. He did. Edward's first memories of his new life were the thoughts of other people.

Aside from a short period of time on his own, he'd always lived with Carlisle. They met Esme a few years later and Rosalie not long after that. Rose saved Emmett after a bear mauled him in the Appalachians.

Jasper and Alice were already vampires when they came to the Cullens.

"I don't mind telling you their stories but I think it would be better if they had the chance to tell you themselves. Except Emmett. Let Rose tell Emmett's story, her version is not only the better of the two but the one with firmer footing in reality. He likes to give the impression that the bear owes Rose a debt of gratitude as well, when that bear was more than holding his own. "

That seemed on par with what little I knew of Emmett. I found myself looking forward to being around him and forgetting that he looked like Goliath.

I also learned that some vampires have "gifts." In the same way that Edward could hear the conscious thoughts of others whether he wants to or not, Jasper could feel their emotions. He could also influence them.

Alice had developed the remarkable ability to see visions of the future.

"Which brings me to your request that Jake come with us to Kent."

"I don't understand."

"When Jake asked if he could accompany us, the course we were on - the four of us in Kent for a week - changed in Alice's visions. Jake became part of the equation.

"The other night, when he showed up in London, our course changed as well. Alice foresaw neither of those events. She didn't see them incorrectly; she had a blank spot for those events. We disappeared.

"Until Jake appeared in our lives, not seeing someone meant they weren't there to see anymore, that they died. But now we're realizing that Jake - probably all the wolves - interfere with Alice's gift.

"I think he could be useful and I am actually glad to increase our numbers but, if he comes with us, we lose the benefit of Alice's foresight."

"I don't understand. Do you anticipate something bad happening while we're there?"

"Alice came clean about some things that she's seen recently and I think _anywhere_ we are we might run into problems. Including our weekend away that will turn into a week."

"Oooh. Does that mean we are going to find something worth staying for?"

"Her looks at that week have been hazy and riddled with holes from the beginning, usually a sign of uncertainty on someone's part. Now we're not sure what it means. It could just mean that Jake's presence was always a possibility we just didn't expect. I hate saying that I don't know, but I just don't.

"I talked to Alice and Jasper. Alice doesn't like Jake going; Jasper actually thinks he will do more good than harm, he likes having an extra man; and I will let you break the tie."

"Don't you get a vote?"

"Not where he's concerned. I am too…conflicted. And I would imagine that if he had any designs on you, you'd be uncomfortable with him coming along. So I will leave it in your hands. If you think he is up to the weekend, I will handle it."

That wasn't what I expected.

"That's all?"

"Yes. I could talk circles about the matter but it really is that simple. If you think he wants to come with us to help, he should be able to do that. If you think he is here to win you back now that you know his secrets, he shouldn't."

"Wouldn't Jasper know?"

The cheeky grin assured me that he approved. "Now look who's thinking like a vampire."

The five of us, Jasper, Alice, Emmett, Edward and I, met Jake and his new friends at a nightspot near my flat.

Jake's two friends had turned into five.

Emmett guffawed at the six of them on the dance floor. "The pup's got some game. Who knew?"

I didn't understand how, with all the music and noise, he heard, but Jake had clearly heard Emmett's comment. Emmett received a one-fingered salute and a smile for his mouth.

This night was going to end badly and I asked Edward for a glass of wine.

* * *

The nightclub was one obnoxious establishment. Of course, in my way of looking at things, all nightclubs are obnoxious. We had an incredibly entertaining evening in spite of the location. Emmett and Jake were like a supernatural yin and yang; Rose was going to be so very pissed when she heard. Edward and Jake found an uneasy truce.

Alice referred to Jake as her very own "brain bleach" and sent him to interact with particularly skanky girls so they didn't invade her consciousness all evening.

My experience at bars was limited to ordering a drink or two and spending the evening in the corner trying to stay out of the way.

Vampires do sort of the same thing. Except when they sit in the corner, they can hear any person's conversation, heartbeat, retch or moan. And Edward and Alice made sure we knew what they were thinking of doing and how that might turn out.

Emmett and Jasper fought over Jake's attention. Emmett thought he was a new toy and Jasper had a prepared list of questions for him.

All the while, we had to disguise what we were doing from Jake's new "friends" when they stopped at the table between dances.

I spent the night in stitches but was mentally exhausted by the time we left.

Jake hugged me goodnight and winked at Jasper. He'd known all along what we were up to.

In the back of Emmett's LandRover, I snuggled up to Edward and whispered, "I love you guys but I can't keep up."

* * *

I wasn't sure how many more mornings I could wake to the smell of waffles and Earl Grey before I was officially too spoiled to function on my own, however I knew that point was quickly approaching.

My eyes didn't want to open but the sight that greeted them, Edward with a tray of breakfast, made me grateful that I'd forced my eyelids apart.

I mumbled something like, "Morning."

"Good morning, love. Breakfast in bed sound tempting?"

"Can I have just a second?"

"Take all the time you need."

I stumbled into the bathroom to brush my teeth and wash my face. My hair was beyond what I was capable of fixing without some styling tool. _Ponytail it is…._

My breakfast, and its guardian, were waiting for me in the still-warm bed.

Though he hadn't slept, Edward wore pajama bottoms and a cotton V-neck t-shirt like any other person who'd just gotten out of bed would.

"Are the pajamas for my benefit?"

"Mostly. I like the ritual, though. It's very…human. Plus, I like you in your pajamas and I don't want you to rush into changing. That blue is lovely against your skin."

I wasn't in my jeans anymore.

Edwrd smiled and reassured me. "Alice, love, Alice changed your clothes. Nothing to worry about."

"I wouldn't be mad if you had helped me change, I just…."

"_I _would have been angry at me. There should be some ceremony the first time I see you disrobe."

His tone was suddenly serious and I, lamely, joked to lighten the mood. "Ceremony? Like trumpets? A crier?"

"I won't need anything to draw my attention, I'm sure. I was thinking of a different sort of ceremony. Something a bit more _meaningful_."

_Oh._ His tone matched mine in levity but the words had a great deal of heart behind them. Stripped, naked, _meaningful_. Hmm...

"Your breakfast is cooling off."

Pulled back from my reverie, I inhaled the steam drifting lazily from my mug of tea, not quite interested in eating yet. "Breakfast in bed is lovely in theory but I don't usually wake up hungry." The fragrant steam, Edward, the aroma of warm syrup - with all the luscious smells I drifted in an inexorable cloud.

I could go back to sleep…I sighed contentedly.

A silken whisper interrupted. "I was perfectly happy to watch you sleep last night but I am getting impatient, Miss Swan."

I laughed a low, lazy chuckle and snuggled into the crook of his arm.

Something warm touched my upper lip. I sniffed, still not opening my eyes. _Maple syrup?_

I propped open one lid to half-glare at the very cherubic vampire above me.

He whispered. "No napkins." Then he shrugged, as if he didn't know what to do with syrup.

I licked it off.

Inexplicably, syrup found its way to my bottom lip as well.

Without opening my eyes, I scraped as much off as I could with my teeth and then pulled my lower lip into my mouth to lick it clean.

Edward stopped breathing in and out; I felt his body go preternaturally still. I opened my eyes in alarm.

His eyes had darkened. They were no longer honey-colored but they weren't yet coffee either.

_Maple syrup._ "Maybe I could be tempted to eat just a bite…or two."

When Edward didn't slow his movements so that I could keep up, he was a blur. In a blink, a buttered morsel of waffle, dredged in syrup, sat perched just beyond my mouth.

I parted my lips and he gently placed the fork against my lip, making me lean forward and take the bite from him. His eyes never left my mouth as I closed it around the fork. I reached for a napkin on the tray and Edward shook his head.

"It's really not enough to soil a napkin for, is it?"

My cheeks warmed but I rose to the bait and licked my lips clean, running my tongue over them twice for good measure.

He shook his head. "Look at the little monster I've created. Who's the dangerous one now?"

We continued that way through a few more bites until I almost did drip syrup on the blanket. Like the strike of a cobra, Edward caught the mess before it hit.

He held his finger up to me as if he'd solved world hunger.

No reason to make things easy on him, I feigned ignorance of what he wanted me to do. "What? You have a napkin."

He placed his finger lightly against my lower lip and I took it in my mouth without another half-hearted protest.

He cut the remainder of my waffle up into tiny little squares, like you would for a small child, and hand-dipped each piece in syrup before offering it to me with his bare fingers. I did have to go after a piece or two.

"Food is such a joy for you."

"I like to cook but I'm not usually so into food. I blame the cutlery - or lack thereof."

He smiled. "Not just for you, singular - I meant food is such a joy for humans in general. Every holiday and special occasion has something edible to go with it. I can't say that I miss it, since I don't have any memories, but I do envy it."

"No chance of me feeding you like that?"

His face screwed up in disgust. "No. None…I can't even think of you and food at the same time. It's just not safe."

"I'm sorry, I was just asking to know. It's okay that I can't, I guess."

"No, I'm sorry. You need to know all this, I just overreacted. And it's not 'okay' that you don't get to share things like this, but I will do all I can to make it up to you."

"Your whole life can't be about penance. Just stop. It's a habit of yours that I want to break. You mean too much to me to be worthless and hearing you say otherwise hurts my feelings."

He nodded, his face placid by design, I figured. "I think I understand."

Coyly, I inquired about the last bit of waffle. "Is that a piece of waffle left?"

And just like that, my sinfully playful Edward was back. "I believe it is."

* * *

**London, 1688**

Answering Sophie's letter to "William" would be tricky business, I knew. I had its contents memorized so I sat in the dark reciting them, looking for some way to make an inroad to her thoughts. I worried that a letter might accidentally find its way to William and knew I needed to use great discretion in my word choice. Or, worse, make it into Tristan's hands so he could hand me over to the Volturi and do as he pleased with Sophie.

I also had no doubt that those words were absolutely written for me to read.

Patience, it would be all about patience.

I delivered a response two days later. We exchanged four more letters over the course of the next two weeks. The weather was frigid, keeping her close to home and making my job easier.

In two more weeks, we headed back to Paris and I shuddered at the thought. Tristan hadn't made another appearance - there were no doubt better games afoot in town - and I loathed the idea of dealing with him.

To keep us occupied I suggested a field trip of sorts to a cave I scouted. The ladies could walk in upright and there were ancient drawings on the walls not far in.

As soon as I received a note of confirmation from Sophie - addressed to myself, not William, for once - I began making arrangements for the group of twelve that would be exploring the cave I'd found.

* * *

_**Author's Note:**_ Thank you Songster51 for kindly sharing with everyone that I pwned you. (My husband is not so quick to admit it and I'm considering writing into a blog or two to confess on his behalf.) Seriously, thank you. That was far and away the highlight of that day.

Yesyov (Leis), thank you for sending some very kind readers my direction. You are too kind.

Danni, Clementine and Olive: Thank you for the love and all-hours therapy sessions.

Clem, you and I are going to take over the world and no one would be the wiser. *wink*

Danni, thanks for talking me out of being a prima donna over this chapter. I didn't even know I had it in me.

I am participating in the FGB Author Auction. Clementine, justduckie on Twi'd or justduckie1 on Twitter, is the team captain. Please contact her if you are interested in being part of Team Metaphysics in the fight against cancer.


	15. Chapter Fourteen

_**Disclaimer:** The Twilight Saga and its characters belong to Stephenie Meyer._

* * *

**A fairly gruesome series of acts are hinted at in this chapter. If violence is a hard limit for you (um, that would normally be yours truly), or the detailed description of gory crime scenes makes your stomach turn, you may want to avert your eyes for one chapter.**

**For that reason, this chapter only contains scenes relating to the violence depicted. If you skip it, you will not be missing anything unrelated.**

**Without further ado….**

* * *

While wandering the woods between my rooms and Sophie's family's estate, I discovered a hole in the hillside. It was a crack taller and thinner than most doors; it led into a damp, rocky hallway. The cramped hallway emptied into a large room. A few smaller passages led into other rooms as well. One particularly tight passage led to an exit on the other side of the rocky hill.

Uncertain about how our group would fare in such close quarters, I decided that taking them through it wouldn't be on the itinerary. I would simply point it out.

I familiarized myself with the little labyrinth and planned out a few hours worth of exploration.

In the largest room were drawings on the wall of the cave from some older civilization. While their etchings were primitive, they were supremely interesting, like nothing I'd come across before. They seemed to tell stories of hunting and life, possibly even their gods, as if Homer himself had commissioned a crude series of etchings in ancient France.

Looking at the ancient drawings, imagining their true meaning, I couldn't help but wonder what Sophie would make of them. There were creatures depicted that I didn't even recognize. Our afternoon here should be fascinating.

Sophie wrote wondering about clothing and the terrain and I responded. She also offered to take care of bringing along a picnic. Had she guessed that I wouldn't be very talented in scraping together human meals - that is to say, meals _for humans_? With gratitude, I handed that duty over to her.

The cave itself was the same constant temperature as any cellar, another benefit to our expedition. No matter how chilly and snow-covered it might be outside, it wouldn't be freezing inside the cavern. So, two days ahead, I stashed some claret, a few blankets, a large rug and a few folding chairs for the ladies in the largest room where I thought we should picnic. I hid a stash of candles there as well, just in case. I might not have a problem navigating in the dark but I knew they would.

I went about my errands that evening in the almost full moon and it felt like walking in full sun. The night was clear and cold and the moonlight bathed every object it touched in a frosty glow. One more night and it would be full; I had a hard time convincing myself that the nighttime could be made brighter without causing the tell-tale shimmer across my hardened flesh, and yet tomorrow night it would be.

And now that my mind had drawn a connection between these drawings and the ancients, I saw the outlines of their livestock and hunting in the stars.

If the Greeks and Romans stashed their Pantheon among the heavens, these peoples probably had too. Their cave drawings, perfectly preserved in my memory, fitted in among the late autumn sky nicely. Their princess pined for a common hunter. Their warriors fought eternally. Their king repented of his vanity with the greatest leisure ever granted.

The moon bore her silent witness to these nightly events and I wished she would break her silence and speak to me.

In the more than forty years since I'd become a vampire, the moon and I had become friends; I knew each and every irregularity of her surface, the way a human would know the creases to expect when their wife smiled and gradually became so used to seeing that indicator of her delight that seeing them daily as she aged became a comfort, not a mar on the landscape created in youth.

The pits and circles were so far away - was the moon always smiling on me or had her laugh lines become permanent so that they were what I saw even when she was displeased with me? I was certain she was smiling on my benevolent task this night. I was entertaining the humans, ridding them of the irritation that staying indoors all winter caused and helping them get to know the world they lived in with greater thoroughness. All the while, I was keeping Sophie safely from the prying eyes of Tristan or any of his friends.

The truth of the matter was, I was very pleased with myself.

* * *

The morning before our scheduled departure was overcast. Instead of needing to meet them at the caves, I brought my hired carriage to collect Sophie and her cousin. Her cousin was as delighted to come as Sophie but for different reasons all together. Dark, brooding heroes preferred dark locales to court their loves and we might happen upon one today.

If I wanted to procure a fish for my supper I would hasten to a body of water. From that point of view, her reasoning was sound.

The three carriages of explorers met in front of Madame de Marque's home. I led the way to the caves.

Before we went inside, we talked about the cramped spaces, the dampness of the weeping rock walls and the absolute darkness that existed beyond our lanterns. If they were prepared they would be less likely to become startled. No one was to wander off alone, not even for a moment. Finding one of them might not be a difficult task for me but it would present a host of awkward questions to answer - avoidance was a far simpler alternative.

Our group broke off into smaller segments to divide the food and lanterns. Each of them placed a spare candle on their person and knew to light it if their lantern flickered even the smallest amount.

As we neared the entrance, I began to reconsider the wisdom of bringing Sophie here. Did I really want her in this tomblike place? Would it make her think more about my disgusting, deathly existence?

I shuddered; the snow covering the ground was irrelevant to my chill.

"I know you aren't likely to succumb to the icy air. What would cause you to shiver, Mr. Cullen?"

"Quite the contrary, Miss Copeland. The idea of you exposed to such frigidness - even long enough to walk from carriage to shelter - has me quaking."

She didn't bother to temper her displeasure, narrowing her eyes at my banter. "Don't trifle with me if something is wrong."

"Nothing is wrong. I think we will have a very pleasant day. I am most interested in your thoughts about what I've brought everyone here to see."

The pictures on the cave walls were still my secret and she was unimpressed with the cold, gray, weeping mass we were approaching. "Rocks? Let me see if I can't be inspired by such unyielding, mindless minerals."

It seemed like a lifetime ago, but it hadn't been too long since she sent William her first poem. _His own stony figure eternally tensed, expectantly poised…. _"After your last poetry about a stony creature, such a comparison is most unflattering."

"Oh…you mustn't think…I didn't mean…."

I couldn't hold in the laugh.

"You are a proper rogue. I have half a mind to send you packing back across the Channel."

"Yes. I'm sure you wouldn't have secured my passage long ago, were it in your power to do so. I will consider myself fortunate that it is not entirely at your whim that I am pressed into activity."

Fleetingly, a devilish smirk played at the corner of her mouth. Her cheeks, already rosy from walking in the frosty air, deepened in hue. I quashed the compulsion to inquire about her thoughts on pressing me into activity. It was certain to be at least mildly insulting.

"I believe I am being pressed into service at this very moment. Promise me you won't wander off or get left behind. Stay close to me…or to Monsieur de Sevigne."

She raised her eyebrow in question. "You are a proponent of my latest suitor?"

Today, yes. "As an escort through cramped, dimly lit corridors…." _Oh, Carlisle, you fool! This outing seemed less like one for educational purposes than an endless series of nooks for young couples to pair off. Even young Vivienne understood before I did. _"I think I am reconsidering. Stay close to his sister or me."

She was unsuccessful in stifling her amusement at my revelation. This field trip was ideal for a young man looking to take liberties - where _couldn't_ he put his hands under the guise of keeping her upright and unscathed? I would have to be extra-vigilant for the sake of Sophie and her cousin, Vivienne.

"You have the virtue of only two unmarried young ladies to guard, sir. I think you are more than capable of such a mean feat."

"That cousin of yours has attracted quite a bit of attention, even at such an immodestly early hour. It might be more of a challenge than I'd calculated."

"So thoughtful of you to dote on Vivienne. I shall pass along your considerable regard. Her affections are quickly swayed by such attention, as I am certain you have intended."

The ease with which one could acquire Vivienne d'Alibert's admiration was as obvious as her lust for life. No matter how capricious she might seem, such a tendency to love the act of falling in love over and again would hopefully fade and she would make some young man a very capable, beautiful companion. Sooner rather than later, if her frequent disappearances onto balconies were any indicator.

"I will endure a mountain of such attention if it ensures that you, and Mademoiselle d'Alibert, arrive home precisely as I found you this morning."

My language skills had improved dramatically since my arrival on French soil and I struggled to retain the façade of discomfort with the lovely tongue. Every sentence lilted and writhed from my throat like a dance and I reveled in my newfound mastery. Pretending otherwise was growing tiresome among all these sharp conversationalists.

"Your accent is fading; in fact, it is all but non-existent now, Monsieur. You will be keeping up with the Cartesians and l'Academie in no time at all."

"Hopefully…." _Just let something slip by unnoticed, Sophie._

I led the way into the caves, certain that Sophie and Vivienne were immediately behind me. Another intrepid gentleman secured the rear of our party, ensuring there were no stragglers.

Monsieur de Sevigne followed the mademoiselles closely and his sister, the Madame Anais de Marque I met at the masqued ball, was at his heel. The tiny, irregular corridor ensured that we progressed in a single file. And it ensured that we progressed with painful slowness.

When they entered the large room at the end of the tight corridor, each person took a long breath, as if they'd been holding it for the duration of our journey into the hillside. I lit the lanterns stashed near the wall paintings.

A shared gasp went up from the direction of Sophie and Anais.

With mock-magnanimity, Madame proclaimed, "Is this your surprise? That you want to paint masterpieces on chapel ceilings like Michelangelo? I'm not sure that your horsemen will make it to a rendition of the riders of the Apocalypse, Monsieur Cullen. But I will patronize you to encourage your improvement."

"Such a generous offer. But, no, these pictures predate my discovery of the little cave; they are not my own work."

The questions and discussion began to swirl - how old could they be, what type of primitives drew them, what did they use to put their pictures on the cave walls.

A few of the gentleman so inclined drew copies of what they saw.

While they were occupied, I began to spread out our lunch. The babble of so many voices was satisfying for me and my recent bouts of loneliness ebbed into the recesses of my mind as new possibilities rushed forward. I may not ever find other vampires willing to live the way I did, but I could certainly interact more with humans if I were supremely cautious. Here I was, out with them in the daytime. Some things would take practice and plotting but maybe I didn't have to run from Sophie and William when we returned to London.

If Sophie were going to tell, she would've done so by now.

She knew I wasn't actually eating or drinking; she even aided my subterfuge.

The idea of the Copelands as more than two humans I interacted with on a weekly basis was certainly attractive. I turned it over and over, scheming as I went about my mundane tasks.

I let them know food was available whenever they wanted to partake and pulled out my hidden cask of wine.

"You are really some kind of host, Monsieur Cullen."

I recognized the soft drawl immediately. "Madame de Marque. What kind of host is that?"

"You are perfectly organized, thoughtful of all your guests and do not hold back the good wine. All traits of the most successful hosts. Thank you so much for including my brother and I in your expedition today. I feel like a true explorer."

"The honor is all mine."

"I can only assume that you explored this warren of tunnels thoroughly before bringing us down here. Is there anything else interesting to be found?"

A few of the young men gathered as I told Madame de Marque about the other tunnels and exit and the few scattered drawings I found on the way.

They were thoroughly intrigued.

On the other hand, Vivienne and a few others were quite ready to leave after lunch.

That dichotomy in our group led me to compromise. I agreed to lead the six intrepid adventurers to the cave's lesser exit and the gentleman who'd secured the far end of our single-file line guaranteed that the other four would make it home safely.

I made sure to take him to the side before we parted ways to warn him about Vivienne. He was better informed than I was and my doubts faded with their lanterns.

* * *

The change in the direction of airflow indicated that we were nearing the exit. Because of a large room above us that opened to the outside as well, air was sucked out of the warmer cavern into the cold outside once we passed its connection with the hallway we were in. When we passed beneath the mouth like opening I indicated the room above.

Immediately, I heard the young men whispering about coming back with ropes and hooks. I smiled to myself.

The two ladies walked at my side.

Sophie mused aloud, "This place is more secure than any castle and darker than the aqueducts around Paris."

In unison, Anais and I asked, "How do you know that?"

She hedged, "I've been to a dozen castles."

"Does William know?"

She was in the process of begging me not to tattle to William when I felt my amusement curdle into a growl deep in my chest. My reaction occurred before I registered what could cause such raw hatred.

And, even when I consciously separated the offending odor from the other smells drifting through the cave, I couldn't identify it. I simply knew that it was the scent of my nemesis, the rancid smell of animated refuse, and I could no more ignore it than I could curse my Creator. In fact, when I did think to turn away from the smell and get the humans out, it felt like I was tolerating a sacrilege.

I had yet to identify the sulfurous odor's source.

A feminine gasp reoriented me.

The other five had been behind me when I stopped at the source of the smell on the wall beside me.

Anais walked to the cave's other entrance, just a few paces away and around a corner that was now dimly lit by weak sunlight. She had made it back to our line of sight before freezing. Her face was deathly pale. She turned and made eye contact with me - her pupils were dilated, her heart hammered away and a light sheen of sweat was visible on her forehead. She would pass out any second.

"Snow…we should head home now or we will be stranded." Whatever frightening thing she'd run into around the corner, it wasn't a snowstorm. The metallic tinge to the air hinted at massacre.

I took her brother by the shoulders in a gesture that I hoped seemed like I wanted to talk to him man-to-man rather than be a menace.

"Your sister is ill. Start back the way we came and I will make sure we catch up. Do not be slow, son."

"_Bien sur_. Are you sure you - "

"Absolutely. We will catch up. Go quickly."

I caught Sophie's arm as she rushed towards her new friend to help her. "You don't want to see that, love. Don't move and I will get her. Promise me you will stay right here?"

She nodded and I hoped she wasn't lying.

At the cave's mouth was carnage like nothing I'd ever seen. I pulled the shaking woman into my chest and walked her to Sophie. I put a small rug on the ground and my coat around the two of them.

"I will be right back, Sophie. You're safe, keep telling her that." Already my words felt like a lie, but I would do anything to make them true. That had to count for something. "Say my name if she tries to move - she is in shock and I don't think she will."

"How bad is what she saw?"

"I don't know how to describe it - it is a circle of Hell, a torture chamber."

She nodded again, apparently satisfied it was nothing she wanted in her memory and I moved towards the slaughter.

Just on the other side of a rounded corner, human body parts - some with bits of clothing and jewelry still attached - were strewn. Brown-red blood stained the walls and floor, even the ceiling.

Half-degloved limbs left long bones exposed. The bones had teeth marks that evidenced prominent canines, fang-like canines. A quick count of limbs and torsos gave me a contradictory count of the number dead and I realized that somewhere in the countryside were body parts that would never receive a proper burial. Their families would never have a gravesite to mourn in front of.

I sniffed the incoming air again and couldn't stifle the low growl that rolled out.

No vampire had allowed this much blood to go to waste. No human had teeth like that. No animal was strong enough to do this.

The night before, something truly monstrous had been on the hunt. By the full moon.

I walked into the open air and saw him about a thousand yards away. No one else was around and, if they were, all they would have seen was a blur, I closed the distance so quickly.

Pulling back my hand to strike, I realized that he hadn't moved to defend himself. In fact, he exposed his neck to me.

"Quickly, do it quickly."

The man before me was dressed like a farmer. His life hadn't been easy but being one of the Children of the Moon meant that he was as strong, fast and resilient as any vampire.

Only by the light of the full moon was he a wolf.

The day after his rampage, he was still covered in the blood of strangers, his fingernails brick-colored crescent moons where they should've been white of even dirty black, his clothes shredded by the forest he'd run through and the violence of his nocturnal slaughter. And even so, he knew it was wrong. He was asking me to put him down like a rabid dog, to permanently end his sin.

"It doesn't have to be this way. I don't slaughter humans."

At that he looked up at me and I saw his eyes for the first time. His eyes were yellow. They weren't the gold color mine were, they were a venomous yellow that I'd only seen on preserved tropical insects under glass. They were the yellow of sulfur and acid, not honey and amber.

"It is not something I can control; I have tried. This is my fourth full moon and each time it is worse. My mouth waters at the thought of eating the flesh of the bones of my own children. This life is a fate worse than death, my own kind of hell, and I regret my actions less with each cycle of the moon.

"If you do not end this, more will die. And it is not a quick death. I am a monster and you are the only thing that can kill me. You have no choice, vampire. Your Volturi will kill you if you don't fight honorably."

Even he knew about the enforcers of the vampire world. Clearly he was not a lone wolf.

"Even so, I cannot kill you in cold blood. Stay with me for the next full moon, I'll keep you locked away safely."

Eyes wide with fear, he whispered, "He always comes for me…I am never left alone to try and restrain myself. He always brings blood and I have no choice."

"Who?"

"No."

"Who?"

"You will do this, end this?"

"No. I will keep you safe."

"Then you leave me no choice."

He broke from the edge of the woods towards the shallow bowl of a clearing, towards the women. He forced my hand in the surest means at his disposal.

I lunged for his ankle and swung his entire body back towards the forest. His torso struck a tree, breaking the tree but doing little more to him than shredding his shirt. He flung himself back into an offensive crouch, his expression one of a man possessed.

My fighting skills were limited to the few things Alistair taught me and the little bit of sparring we did to reinforce it. I wasn't even certain if his skin was permeable to my bite.

I crouched as well, readying myself to spring, not caring if my teeth would break the skin or not. I could dismantle him some other way if the need arose. His eyes were wild, lit with desperation and decision. He hadn't decided how he would die, he was offering himself in behalf of strangers.

He jumped at me first, snarling. His teeth grazed my forearm and he slipped right through my hands.

I expected another attempt to wound the center of my body and missed grabbing him completely the second time he lunged at me. Instead of trying to wound me mortally, he was snapping at my feet, forcing me to either attack or allow him to nibble away at me.

Only a dog would bite at my heels.

The third time he came at me, I waited until the last possible moment and jumped straight up into the tree above me. I pushed off the limb and landed on his back, slicing the back of his neck with my teeth. I turned him over and sunk more venom into his chest before I could think to stop myself.

"The Marquis. The Marquis de Montval…he is a monster."

A smile of grim satisfaction played across his lips as he breathed his last and I couldn't help but wonder if I would have the same selflessness if I ever became such a monster.

I'd admired a _loup-garou_.

However distorted my feelings were, I didn't not have the time to sort through them. I'd only been gone a few minutes but I knew I couldn't leave Sophie and Anais alone next to that bloodbath any longer.

* * *

Sophie stood over the pile of flesh and bone, weeping quietly.

"You promised, _cherie_. You promised."

"What would do this? What kind of monsters are out there?"

As I had Anais, I pulled her to my chest as she sobbed quietly. I said a quiet prayer for us all: for the half a dozen souls who'd died tortured and afraid in a way I couldn't imagine, for their families who would never know and always wonder, for the two innocents now scarred by this image, for the killer who couldn't allow more to die.

A third voice joined our quiet "amen" and I turned to see Madame de Marque's red-rimmed eyes peering at me as though she were seeing something beyond me, as if she were looking through me.

Madame de Marque noticed I omitted myself. "And for yourself, _mon ami_. You will need God as well, after all this."

I would. But I was too overcome by the execution to pray for myself. And I'd been so proud of myself for bringing the humans here. I couldn't begin to know how to ask for forgiveness for meddling in their affairs, much less expect it.

"I will pray for you, Carlisle. You are carrying too much for one man and sometimes we all need help. I am sure Sophie will pray for you too, _non_?"

"Of course, I will. It will not even be something new. You are always in my prayers, always."

Sophie walked to her new friend and kneeled before her. The two women embraced and I wished I had the outlet of tears to cleanse some of my own torturous grief.

"My brother will worry. We should make haste."

I hurried, knowing I had to revisit this scene for a final task. This would have to do for the time being. I doused the bodies with the oil in my lantern and lit them.

When I turned to go, two faces, eerily lit by candlelight, nodded their grave approval.

I led the way and the two women followed so closely I could feel their breath. We scurried along the rocks, rats abandoning the ship.

* * *

The three of us shared a carriage and talked very little except to agree that the animalistic killing would only serve to frighten others. Anais was adamant that no one be told and Sophie and I were quick to agree.

She put on quite a performance at home, convincing the others she was overcome by the tight spaces and stress of the impending storm.

* * *

The entrances to that cave would have to be a thing of the past. I hated keeping those drawings from future discoverers but the risk far outweighed the reward. That wolf wasn't alone and his maker, the Marquis, might come back, angry at the loss of his playmate.

The moon, not quite full any longer, lit the countryside as I went about my macabre chores. I dragged the mangled werewolf corpse to the cave entrance. My venom had done most of the work of decomposing him, leaving his body looking smoke-blackened and charred.

The task of bringing down the entrance was supremely satisfying and I threw myself at the mountain in the finest of rages. Stone against stone, I gouged the mountainside, flinging boulders and debris into the opening. I climbed, spider-like, into the ante-chamber above, only to find more human carnage, these bodies from preceding moons.

They burned as I finished caving in the lower chambers.

The cavern floor here was very thin and it ran directly over the cramped tunnel I would take out. When the bodies stopped burning, I stood below the little room and threw myself at the ceiling until I crashed through.

I repeated the action at small intervals until there were five holes in the rock above me. Then I swiped my arm, as if I were clearing away cobwebs, and took out the entire floor. The damage I'd inflicted on the scene of such violence had cooled my anger by degrees.

Finally, I prayed for myself as I walked to the smaller entrance to seal it off as well.

* * *

**Author's note:** Monsters…they're everywhere.

**I am offering my services for the FGB author auction, a chapter and POV of the winner's choosing. That other thing, um, yeah. Since I won't be generating $10,000 worth of bids, I think we're safe.**

1netka suggested an outtake of last week's trip to the night club with the Cullens and Jake and I may throw it out there sometime soon. It will be fairly short but fun.

I am sorry for my recent cyber-absence, but your witty selves have a fabulous source of distraction amidst all the tears. Thank you for the kind PM's, posts, DM's, emails, et cetera. Who knew Rob's fingers were a form of therapy (aside from Marvar and Cosmo, obviously)?

Clem, you're so hot, you really are making me sexist.

Danni, I know you are into the Americanisms. You are greased lightening with a head on you like a housecat. Thank you for not making me hum like a ten-penny nail hit with a greasy ball-peen hammer when you were done with this. It was an option. ("Peen" does have a PG-rated usage.)

More than most chapters, I am anxious to hear what you think of the new monsters….


	16. Chapter Fifteen

_**Disclaimer:** The Twilight Saga and its characters belong to Stephenie Meyer._

* * *

"Allesworth."

"Gesundheit."

He laughed indulgently at my pathetic attempt at a joke. "Vampires don't sneeze. The name of the house in Kent is Allesworth."

I shook my head. _Dammit! The note had that name on it. _

I yawned and snuggled down into the covers beside Edward, silently berating myself. If it were after lunch I might have sprung to action and presented the envelope protecting the note in question to him. At this early hour, however, I basked in my post-waffle-eating bliss and just thought about doing so. I'd carried that scrap of paper around for almost forty-eight hours and was only remembering it now because he metaphorically slapped me across the face with its contents. And he'd done it accidentally, at that.

This far along, what was another five or twenty minutes?

_I could always ask my alarm clock to get it. _"Before I am bashed over the head with more information I've failed to share with you, will you just pull the envelope I snatched from the Copelands' out of my bag and look at the two love notes from my stalker with me?"

My favorite crooked grin spread across his features, animating them unevenly. Symmetry, contrary to what my geometry and art history professors claimed, was highly overrated. "Before you berate yourself too much, you showed them to Jake. And I saw him thinking about them. I would've asked if I hadn't, I promise."

Shaking off the buzz of bedazzlement to the best of my early morning abilities, I tried to keep up my end of the conversation. "That's excellent, I guess. It makes my job a helluva lot easier. Your inability to hear my thoughts is…_inconvenient_, at least in this case."

"I couldn't agree more, in this particular case."

He raised an eyebrow - more impossibly sexy asymmetry - and I had to close my eyes to undo the effect. "So, back on topic, if you know about the house, why do we have to go there? What's its significance? Do you already know why its on the note?"

"No, I don't know. But Carlisle thinks we might unearth something of use there and the note tells me someone else thinks so too." He paused and gathered me to him before continuing. "The home has been remodeled multiple times, but much of the original structure still remains underneath the changes. That original building was Sophie Copeland's family home; she knew it inside an out, every nook and cranny. In name, it passed to William but he treated it as if it belonged to her alone and intended it to pass to her children. Carlisle says it was her touchstone, a source of strength to her after her parents died and, if any secrets about her are to be unearthed, they will be found on its grounds.

"We are going on a fact-finding mission."

"I am Charlie Swan's daughter. I know a fishing expedition when I smell one." I curled my nose in mock-disgust at the thought of cleaning fish.

"It seems you need no instructions, then, Miss Swan. Jake is on his way over to make breakfast with Esme - so she can teach him the secret to perfect waffles and give us the opportunity to organize our plan of attack. He is very invested in this and, surprisingly, not only out of concern for you. He thinks this situation is significant and has even spoken to his pack leader, Sam, about it." As an afterthought, he added, "Though, Esme's cooking doesn't hurt, either."

Carlisle's presence would be helpful too. He was always here by now and I couldn't help but wonder what he'd make of our recent discoveries. He seemed like such a history buff, from the artifacts and ephemera around his home to the way he spoke about the people in history as if they were contemporary figures.

I also wondered how he might feel about my attachment to his son.

And how he would he know the way she felt about that house? Had Edward bounced theories off Carlisle while I was catching up?

Why hadn't Edward mentioned Carlisle researching Sophie before this? It could have been so useful. In fact, other than telling me the unconventional tale of how the Cullens became a family, he hadn't said anything at all about Carlisle.

I mentally thumbed through Edward's abridged family history from the night before, beginning from the time Carlisle found him in a Chicago hospital up to the story about Emmett and the bear.

But who found Carlisle wasting away? Who saved _him _from certain death by giving him this new life? How long had Carlisle been a vampire?

_It's him. It's him, Bella, it __**has**__ to be._

More relevant to my current concerns, _when_ did they make him a vampire?

_It has to be him. Jake said no other vampires have golden eyes._

It could've been any time before the turn of the twentieth century.

_Like, say, the early seventeenth century. Carlisle is your "William."_

There was no disguising my shallow breathing and sudden rigidness. "When?"

Edward eyed me nervously. He knew I'd put it together.

"You became a vampire less than a hundred years ago. When did Carlisle?"

To his credit, Edward didn't pretend not to know what I was getting at. "He was turned in the 1640's. He'd been a vampire less than fifty years when he met William and Sophie."

I breathed out, the pressure and stress of months of theories and research rushing out.

Jake already knew. He didn't _know_ know, but he'd figured out enough to disqualify all the identifiable suspects but Carlisle - which was why he wanted to get permission to tell me his theory.

_Carlisle_ had a human friend whose story has a murky end.

_Carlisle _was the poet that I'd spent months reading about; I probably knew him better than any of the Cullens, better even than Edward. And he knew Sophie. He had to have known her.

It was Carlisle looking for redemption. For what? He would never harm someone; he practiced medicine now, for crying out loud! Had he judged himself as inhuman and monstrous just like Edward? Or was there an event, an event that precipitated his guilt?

Had Carlisle made someone his "accident" years ago?

I turned my attention back to Edward. "I think Jake has already put it together about Carlisle. Has he said anything about it to you yet?"

"He did. Last night."

"So what happened to Sophie? And why are you even bothering to research all this if Carlisle was there?" Because of the importance of the conversation, I fought an urge to do a celebratory dance under the covers.

My all-but-comatose subconscious emerged, reborn at the prospect of horizontal mattress dancing with Mr. Cullen. With considerable effort, I shot her down. _Concentrate, Bella_.

"It's not as cut and dry as that. Carlisle will be home from work in about half an hour. I thought the four of us - you, Esme, Jake and I - could get on the same page before we talked to our primary source. Then you can fire your list of questions at Carlisle. As far as I'm concerned, it can be a no-holds-barred Q and A but we'll have to see what Carlisle and Esme are comfortable talking about."

I was salivating at the thought until the giant, obvious caveat occurred to me. I chuckled. "How the hell am I going to list this in a bibliography?"

"This might be one of those cases where not crediting your source is the better idea. We'll get the evidence to prove any 'theory' you put forward."

"I was only kidding. Sort of."

"So I hoped. We'll figure out what to present later. There will be enough to write about that you won't need to worry. Answering all the questions in Sophie's story will have more than academic value. Someone who isn't a friend to Carlisle knows more than we do and is threatening us with what we don't know. And it doesn't seem to be the same someone who planted those notes for you to find at the Copelands'. This situation just gets more and more convoluted.

"I was hoping to begin untangling the knots this morning, while the important parties are together. Are you game? I know it's early."

_Hell yes. I was game! _I was chomping at the bit to start unraveling this tightly-spun yarn. "Absolutely. Let's get started!"

His calm surface rippled for an instant. "There's one more thing I'd like to ask of you. You don't have to answer right away if you're uncomfortable or need to think about it. I'm just old-fashioned, brought up in a different era, so please consider that.

"Under ideal circumstances, a gentleman would request a father's permission to court his daughter. But you're no adolescent and your father is thousands of miles away. I've already taken more liberties than I should have, given those facts. Still I feel like Chief Swan should know about our acquaintance and its progression.

"Obviously, it would be exceptional for me to call him from out of the blue so I was hoping that you might consider speaking to him about it?"

Stunned, I didn't answer for a moment. Edward remained still, not fidgeting or urging me to answer in any way, but I could feel his anxiety. This was important to him, important enough to bring the subject up and to make him nervous.

But an "acquaintance"? Really? I was under the impression that what we were embarking on here was far more than that.

It was a divergence from my previously unchanged orbit, a seismic shift - my own sort of imprint.

I tried to choose my words carefully. "I do need to tell Charlie about us. I'm just uncertain about what to tell him."

His ramrod-straight posture relaxed just a bit as his anxiety thawed. "I can see the need to choose your phrasing carefully. The only advice I can give comes from years of mental eavesdropping: be honest. Fathers tend to cringe over the physical details but melt when their daughter talk about what makes them happy or feel special."

"What would you want to tell him?"

"If I could talk to him?"

I nodded.

"I'd tell him that I admire his daughter and would like the opportunity to spend some time with her. But only if he is amenable. I would promise to make you my primary concern any time we are together and return you to him exactly as I found you each and every time we go somewhere together."

He turned me to face him before he continued. "But what I'd _like _to tell him is that meeting you wasn't a 'life-altering' event. You haven't _changed_ my life, Bella. Before you, it wasn't worth the remodel. You _are_ my life now. Your heart is the metronome that dictates the pacing of my every move and your breath is as necessary to my own continued existence as it is to yours.

"Your wants and needs are my wants and needs. Anything that hurts you, hurts me."

I interrupted him to add, "Wherever you go, I will go and wherever you lie down I will lie down. Your people will be my people."

"That's the gist of it, yes." He seemed to recognize the quote from Ruth that many used in their wedding vows despite it being an exchange between a young widow and her mother-in-law.

"I think I understand."

_Just say it, Bella. You have chosen to endanger your life with regularity for this man. You've made him your life as well; you've practically spoken vows. Tell him that you love him._

_Because you do. You love him._

Before I could muster up the courage to say the words, he sweetly put his lips to mine, sealing our contract for what felt like the first time all over again.

We turned and I found myself laid out across the bed with his hand at the base of my head, supporting me. My body lay alongside his like an offering.

He pulled his mouth from mine though I had only a fraction of a second to miss it before he trailed kisses up from my collarbone, tracing a line along my neck that ended at the hairline behind my ear.

I slipped my hand under the hem of his shirt and skimmed my fingers along his side. He flinched and slowed his seduction of my earlobe.

My earlobe was a sure thing, I wanted to tell him, but I continued to let her play coy just to save some face for later.

I sighed at the thought, the realization of how many "laters" I could have. Instead of using it to caress his side, I used my right hand to grip him and pull my body flush with his. My neglected mouth claimed his again.

Never before had I felt so hungry. If it were possible to be consumed by another, I could have done so to him at that very moment. Being pressed into his side was seductive and reassuring at the same time.

But it wasn't enough. I writhed and wormed my way to face him better, along the way rubbing his leg with my own. His hand inched down my back, over the curve of my waist and crested the swell of my hip.

His stony skin was a fortress I'd been laying siege to for days now and I could feel his reinforcements weakening. I didn't want to be near him so much as I wanted to crawl inside and pretend that the rest of the world had never existed for any purpose beyond our own edification. He was so self-contained I had no doubt my plan would work. We could hide from the world for days.

I arched up to keep my mouth flush with his.

Edward's hand on my leg became possessive; I could feel his fingers gripping the inside of my thigh. As I arched my back, he pulled my leg up as if he were hooking my knee across his hip.

I used my leg to pull him tighter still.

He balked and pulled his lips from mine. "I…need to slow down a little, love. I don't need to get to carried away."

Wrapped around him like a pretzel, I wasn't sure where to start the untangling process. "Sure. Um…." I looked down at our limbs and only the different fabrics of our pajamas clued me in to which one belonged to him and which were mine.

He chuckled. "An enviable predicament, this."

In the blink of an eye, he was standing beside me and I was propped up on my pillow, just as he'd found me.

Though I felt my cheeks flush, I wasn't embarrassed. "You do give the best wake up calls, Mr. Cullen."

"The pleasure was all mine." He looked distracted momentarily and added, "Jake is walking up the front step, are you ready to go downstairs?"

"Sure. I'll just change and we can walk down together."

He sat back down beside me. "Can we keep the pajamas on for a little while? I liked the idea of an average human morning enough that I asked Esme to wear hers as well. The idea of all of us sitting around a table - you and Jake eating breakfast, drinking tea, human-paced conversation - seems so cozy and _normal_."

How could I deny him anything so sweet? "Of course I will. Will you hand me my robe?"

* * *

At the base of the stairs, I could hear Jake and Esme in the kitchen. If Edward's vision of all of us around the breakfast table in our jammies was "normal", this vignette was something straight from a Rockwell painting. Well, a twenty-first century Saturday Evening Post.

Okay, a twenty-first century Saturday Evening Post featuring supernatural phenomenon in London. _Maybe I could think of a better metaphor…._

Jake seemed to be setting out dishes for the two of us and she wanted him to try something she'd cooked.

"That is delicious, Esme."

"Even with the 'candied Clorox' smell wafting about?" I could her the teasing note in her voice.

"I shouldn't have said that. And Emmett definitely shouldn't have repeated it. I am trying very hard to think beyond my instincts but some things are going to be harder to get past. I mean, I may not ever like Rose, you know?"

Esme laughed softly. Just the audible evidence of her levity seemed to tint the atmosphere a warmer shade. I could feel my own smile from the curl in my toes to the sudden lightness across my shoulders.

Hearing the seemingly diametrically opposed ends of my new family make an effort to fuse made me want to dance across the hall to the kitchen. I felt Edward press a kiss into the crown of my head and wanted no further coronation to be the Queen of the World, even padding to breakfast in pajamas with ratty hair, sans make-up.

We entered the kitchen and, though my back was to Edward, I recognized a silent exchange between the two men. Edward had overheard the evidence of Jake making the best of my decisions and Jake could see a slice of Edward's heartfelt intent to protect my humanity amidst the monsters. Their truce would never be about a set of rules that either accepted, it was always going to be built around the actions of the other.

And, really, wasn't that what any relationship should be about? They _should_ relate to one another based on what they did, rather than what they said they would do.

"Good morning, you two," said Esme. "I made Jake coffee but I can certainly get another cup of tea for you, Bella. What would you like?"

"Coffee sounds lovely. I'm afraid I might have to take in a lot more caffeine to keep up with these guys."

Esme eyed Edward.

I interceded. "It's okay, I'm just not used to it."

Jake mussed the top of my hair. "We shouldn't have kept you out so late."

I sat down and fidgeted with my cream and sugar as Esme watched me like a hawk.

"She doesn't mind, Mom. Everyone does their own cream and sugar."

She shook her head at her own silliness. "I know, I know. It's just so nice to perform necessary tasks. I've never had to feed you all or provide anything material for you - I'm just here. I keep the house and I work in my studio on whatever my latest project is; I am always busy. And I love this family, love my role in it.

"But the satisfaction of helping with the mundane things that are so necessary to day-to-day life isn't something I've been afforded until recently. Vampire children are fairly self-sufficient, you know. Especially now that you are all so established.

"I feel like a real mother."

Across the counter from Esme, I watched Jake's face change. The conflict was not something I could label or quantify but I knew Edward could so I looked to him.

Edward clapped Jake across the shoulder and said, "You are making her happy just by rendering our garbage disposal obsolete. Your mother would never be angry at you for putting a smile on another mother's face.

"You are doing us all a favor by making her so happy."

Esme was at Jake's side before I could blink, not bothering to move at a human pace for my benefit. I had to remind myself that Jake didn't need it.

She didn't touch him, she just held out her hand. He took her dainty alabaster fingers in his own much larger ones.

"I don't remember my own Mom so I'm not the most qualified judge of how well you're doing at the mom-thing. But, considering the raw material you were given to work with, I think you're doing a pretty fantastic job. It would take an army to teach Rose and Emmett any manners.

"Plus, I think I could get used to being babied. No wonder Bells wants to stay here all the time." Leave it to Jake to throw in a joke to lighten the mood. No wonder he and Jasper got along so well.

"We have another guest room, Jacob. You are welcome to stay here anytime at all."

Jake fidgeted and cleared his throat. "Ahem, I don't want to push it. I'll sleep at Bella's for now. But, thanks for…everything. I'm glad to know Bella has people here to take care of her. I know Charlie will be glad to hear it too." He looked significantly at Edward, in wordless support of Edward's request. They were right, of course.

"Carlisle doesn't have any memories of his mother. I seem to have a way with motherless boys."

At the same time, Edward and I said, "You have a way with _everyone_."

I moved to the table with my cup of coffee. Jake brought his plate and juice over, insisting to Esme that he would get more bacon as soon as he had more room on his plate.

I meant to drink the coffee in front of me but Edward just gazed into me as I sat down, looking as though he were searching for a vision in a crystal ball. And I forgot. I forgot my breakfast. I forgot my questions about the centuries' old mystery we were pondering.

Jake cleared his throat to try and recall me to my senses. "Maybe you should call this thing to order, Bells."

I answered with more conviction that I actually possessed, certain I could follow through eventually if I just pretended to focus for a minute. "Sure. Where should we start? Let me see…."

_Concentrate, Bella. It's only breakfast. How are you going to stagger through the rest of the day if he offers to feed you lunch?_

_Or dessert?_

A sweet feminine voice chimed. "Or we could just wait on Carlisle to get home."

"No, Esme. I can keep my eye on the ball." _If I could but decide which ball I wanted my eye on…._

I felt myself redden even more. "Where should we begin? I think we all have a different starting point. Obviously, Carlisle's is the first but maybe we could each tell our version. How does that sound?"

Edward nodded his approval. "I like using points-of-view as an organizing principle. That's a novel idea. Maybe you could go first, love. You seem to be the party of interest to this stranger snooping around."

Foiled again.

"Okay."

I told my story, from my first day in Professor Lourdes' class until my first meeting with Alice, uninterrupted. Esme and Edward had heard most of it before. Jake was around for part of it. Yet, the concentration of the other three made me feel as if I were speaking into a dictaphone.

I was anxious to be out of the spotlight; it seemed to be putting off some heat. "So, that's it. Who's up next?"

"Slow down for just a minute, love. I need some gaps filled in. I think I missed some details."

I doubted that. Every person at the table could probably repeat my narrative verbatim. And describe the fluctuations in my vital signs as I spoke. If Edward needed more information, it was because I had overlooked it.

"Tell me about the grant you received."

I didn't immediately see the relevance. "It was from the Pacific Northwest Trust, established by someone from the Seattle area for the study of the Copelands, with the possibilities…." The buzz of Edward's phone distracted me, made me retrace my words long enough to see where he might be going with this line of questioning.

I felt my shoulders fold in and I wanted to shrink down to nothing. "I'm not here because I deserve to be. Someone lured me here."

"Someone did lure you here. You more than deserve your place at the university; your research so far proves it."

Esme furrowed her lovely brow in frustration. "Bella, you are so bright! I don't think you miss anything thrown your way - or the out-of-the-way details either. Don't even think that."

"Mom's right. I would never insinuate that; I should've chosen my words more carefully. I think someone we are already acquainted with - the tiniest package of annoyance ever known, in fact - arranged for you to find that trust." He flipped his phone open. "Isn't that so, Mrs. Whitlock?"

_Who?_

"I understand. Well, forgiveness will definitely come easier than permission would have…thanks for coming clean…you too."

He turned his full attention back to me. "I thought your arrival here was too…coincidental. Alice did have something to do with it."

I felt better, though I still wondered if I could've taken care of myself. And that doubt irritated me. "Two weeks ago, I would've been surprised. Now, however, I am just grateful."

Edward and Esme beamed. Jake didn't seem to be getting the whole picture so I asked Edward to tell me how Alice procured the grant for me.

"The grant was created by Alice. She sent the email to you from Professor Lourdes' account suggesting you pursue it and sent one to the Professor from 'you' as well. A little over a year ago, she had a vision of the family here in London. She saw just a glimpse of my reason for being in school here and wanted us to cross paths.

"So, a year of manipulation later, here we are."

I was stunned. And impressed. And pissed.

Edward seemed to understand. "Her idea of 'boundaries' is really just a suggestion. She sees so many potentially awful outcomes, and has been wading through them for so long now, that she simply reacts. She has yanked me out of harm's way so many times that I just go with it now. Frequently, before I even knew I was in trouble.

"It's a weird irritation for me. I know she simply expedites the decision I would want made, since she sees the possibilities as they present themselves, but not being able to do it myself is supremely insulting."

I didn't want Edward, or Esme for that matter, to think I regretted being in their lives again. "I am thrilled things have worked out like this but I am angry to have been manipulated."

Esme spoke up. "It sounds worse than it is, Bella. Alice can only see the result of decisions that have already been made. She did do things to cause you to make a certain decision but the choices were always yours. They are always yours. It doesn't seem that way sometimes because she moves at the speed of thought rather than in real time. As quickly as you can change your mind, she can see how that will turn out for you.

"You're drawing the landscape; she's just the pencil in your hand."

Esme's explanation made sense, balming my irritation but not taking it away entirely. Alice might not have made decisions for me but she had certainly manipulated me to elicit a certain outcome.

"I'd rather revisit this later. Edward, let's hear your version." I swallowed back my chagrin, focusing on the gift of Edward and the Cullens.

"Are you sure you're ready to move on?"

"Yeah. I really want to hear your story."

Edward's interest in the letters William and Sophie exchanged began about fifteen months prior. Carlisle received a letter written by a vampire he didn't know. Also enclosed in the envelope was a snippet of a letter from Sophie to him. He thought it might have been just a draft because it left off mid-sentence.

It was nearly identical to the planted note I'd found: same thick, yellowed paper; same black ink faded to brown; same elegantly precise hand, cramped by hurry.

_Carlisle, _

_If you are maintaining your "fluttering vigil" still, find me._

_I know now and I need yo_

Aside from the cut off "you", only two words were different from my note. Instead of addressing her plea to Carlisle, she must have addressed it to "William" in the draft she sent out. That's how my note read. She knew enough to keep the secret.

And that fact was known beyond the confines of the Cullen family.

Between Edward and Jacob's tales I understood that keeping the secret was imperative, no matter how uncomfortable. What I didn't understand was the consequence of letting their existence be known by an outsider like me.

"I have the other copy of that note, the one addressed to 'William.' The one she would've sent out. Who sent you that one?"

"The name was Sophie's but the return address wasn't a residence. It was a building in Edinburgh containing a room named after Carlisle - more evidence of his human interaction and something we perceived as another veiled threat.

"Carlisle's interactions with humans are not viewed favorably by vampires. They think he will slip up and be discovered. Once recognized, they think he wouldn't have the stomach to kill a human."

"So I am a liability."

"Never. You are what gets me through each day."

"You know what I mean. From an outsider's point of view, I am a reason to…to what? What happens if a human finds out?"

"If we are discovered, we have to end the human's life. Vampires only view humans as food or a potential vampire. So, we change them or kill them. Either way, their life is over."

"So being around humans is walking a very fine line for you."

"Yes."

Jake spoke up. "Then why do you do it? I've seen how violently human blood affects one of you; I know being around them isn't easy. And your Volturi, they'll execute anyone who lets out your secret. Why risk it?"

Good question.

Esme asked Edward sweetly, "May I?"

"Of course."

"Each of us were on the brink of death when Carlisle found us and changed us. And we all still have the desire to live fulfilling human lives. We don't want to be monsters. Most vampires aren't shown that they can live any other way or don't have anyone to help them try to. But Carlisle helped all of us get through the initial difficulties.

"And now, since we never were able to have the human lives we wanted, we nurse every bit of the humanity left within us by remaining part of their world.

"It's not easy, you're right, Jake. But it is preferable to letting the monster take over."

I had a hard time picturing Esme as a monster. Emmett, Jasper and even Rose I could picture. But not Esme.

"It's in there, Bella. Believe me. But I just can't let it win, I won't. Risking my own life is preferable to that."

I thought of the risks I'd decided I would take to be with Edward and I understood immediately.

They were just like the moth, risking combustion in exchange for a life that really meant something.

Jake weighed in. "So if Carlisle taught you all, who taught Carlisle?"

Edward beamed proudly. "Carlisle is something of a marvel in the vampire world. He was part of a mob whose goal was to hunt vampires. The vampire they found was smart enough to know he needed to run and avoid discovery but starved enough to try to feed as he fled.

"He bit Carlisle but abandoned him for another victim.

"Carlisle realized that his fate would be the same as that monster's as soon as he was bitten and went through the very painful change buried in rotting potatoes.

"He awoke days later, ravenous. But he refused to take a human life. He tried, unsuccessfully, to end his own life and eventually decided he would starve to death. Of course, it isn't possible for a vampire to starve to death, but he didn't know this at the time.

"He went as far from humanity as he could and waited for death. One night, a herd of deer happened by and their scent pulled him out of his coma-like state. In his human life he'd eaten venison so he decided he'd try it.

"Carlisle has never fed from a human."

I was stunned. What a story!

Jake continued his line of questioning. "So Carlisle taught himself to live around humans. What does he think the note is threatening?"

"We're not exactly sure. Sophie died three hundred and fifty years ago, at least. I would have decided to stay away from Bella by the time we received this note so we're not certain what someone would hope to gain."

_Decided to "stay away from Bella?" What the hell does that mean?_

What was there to stay away from?

Jake unsuccessfully stifled a smirk. Edward's eyes widened and Esme smiled knowingly.

"I am particularly drawn to your smell, more than most humans. Being around you at school was almost impossible for me. Things just went down hill from there…can we talk about it alone? Later?"

For the second time that morning, I put the brakes on my temper. "I think we will definitely be talking about it later. For now, is any of it relevant to the problems at hand? When did you decide to 'stay away from' me?" I couldn't resist the somewhat childish urge to make air-quotes as I said it.

"I left for good when Jake started phasing. I knew he would protect you and that I no longer had any reason to be anywhere near Forks or you."

"And when did Alice see you in London for the first time?"

"I'll ask." Edward answered his phone.

"She says it was about a year and a half ago."

"You said you received the letter about Sophie fifteen months ago. She couldn't have seen you in London before you decided to go; that's what Esme said."

Edward explained. "So it means someone made a decision that would lead us to want to investigate in London."

Jake shook his head. "And it looks like Alice interfering with Bella might be the reason that blackmail letter was sent in the first place."

The pregnant silence seemed to indicate the truth of Jake's theory.

"I am endangering you all. I can go back to Forks and make this easy. If I separate myself from you, no one will be angry, right?

"It's not like the vampire police are patrolling the area."

Edward, Esme and Jake stiffened. They looked downright frightened.

"There are vampire police?"

"A group of vampires in Italy enforce the laws. That is to say, the one law: keep the secret. Anything they find fault with is derivative of that."

"And you've already disobeyed."

"Well, not exactly. If we convinced them that you were going to be a vampire one day, they might back off long enough for us to get a plan together."

Jake growled, loudly.

"I wouldn't, Jake. If I wanted to make her like us, I would have done it long ago."

Jake seemed mollified but still uneasy with the tack this conversation had taken.

Edward continued, "Of course, they might only be warning us. They might not know she knows.

"Think about how it would look from the outside: Bella is being lured by a vampire to study the letters and poetry exchanged between a vampire and a human convinced she knew his secret. It could be a warning."

Jake spat his words out. "Still, it's a gamble I don't like."

Edward looked at me as if I were a work of art. "I don't either. I don't either."

I melted under his appraisal, my anger at him fading though I didn't want it to. "So where does that leave us?"

"We need Carlisle's story. He should be home any minute. Do either of you have anymore questions? Jake?"

Jake shook his head.

"If you three are done with the important facts, I just wanted to say something before Carlisle gets here."

The three of us looked at Esme intently.

"I know that Sophie Copeland was a very important part of Carlisle's young life. She and William were kind and supportive, the family he so desperately needed at the time.

"I also know that she was probably head-over-heels in love with him. And, really, I couldn't fault her for having good taste. And I'm sure Carlisle must have been attracted to her but our instinct to only love our mate is very strong. I don't think he would've walked away and been such a perfect husband to me if his heart were divided.

"Quite simply, the substance of his feelings for her centuries ago just doesn't matter. So ask and discuss whatever you need. Getting to the bottom of this mess will help us keep Bella safe and I am more concerned with the safety of this family than anything else.

"And if Sophie were here I would be as adamant about her safety. I owe her a debt of thanks for her kindnesses to my husband. I think she must've been an exceptional young woman."

This was the first time in my life where the disclaimer might prove to be more shocking than the subject of the disclaimer.

Edward put his arm around me and whispered in my ear, "Carlisle is almost home. Do you need to postpone long enough to process what's going on here?"

"No. I can keep up. I had no idea how imperative getting to the bottom of the Sophie Copeland mystery would be."

I heard the garage open as Carlisle drove in.

"Esme, I am going to change into some real clothes. Can I take you up on that cup of tea?"

"I think that's a sensible idea, Bella. It will be waiting on you when you finish upstairs."

* * *

_**Author's Note: **_My cache of secrets is about to be practically nonexistent (a girl's still gotta retain _some_ air of mystery, _non_?). And, once Carlisle has spun his tale, we will be embarking (no pun intended, Jake) for Allesworth. A few of you mentioned rereads and questions in your PM's. I will answer any I can but Sophie says no to quite a few. She is a feisty gatekeeper.

I have had some unexpected tragedy befall my family recently and I appreciate you all sticking with me through this drought. Even when I had the opportunity to write, it wasn't really worth reading, hence the long gap.

Someone nominated my Carlisle for a Vampie in the category: **Bite me. No, really…bite me.** (_Character I'd Like to Bite Me_). They have a fabulous list of nominees (~sunflower~queen~, who usually betas this story, is nominated for best angst) and I had a hard time deciding in most categories. I think you will be surprised how many stories you know and love are over there. Voting is open until August first.

twificpics(dot)com/vampawards/

Finally, Danni has been practically absconded and spirited away for part of the summer. My darling Clementine has stepped up to beta even though she has a million other things she could (will) be doing. I admit that I got her boozed up before I asked but a yes is a yes and I will take what I can get.

Thank you, Clem! I wish I could send you a fruit basket - maybe a melon basket? Oh, wait! *evil giggle*


	17. Chapter Sixteen

_**Disclaimer: **The Twilight Saga and its characters belong to Stephenie Meyer._

* * *

**London, 2009**

Stalking heavily up the stairs, I knew I wouldn't really be alone in my room. But even if they could hear me, smell me, spidey-sense me, they wouldn't be _watching_ me. And the childish logic, "I can't see you so you can't see me," was winning the silent battle in my brain.

I shut the door and noisily took off my pajamas. There seemed to be an unspoken rule about respecting "naked time" at the Cullen house and I banked on it to make me feel more self-contained. I needed to keep my own counsel for a few minutes and digest the facts that had been thrust upon me.

My gaze passed over the unmade bed as I revisited the task of unmaking it this morning with a sigh.

This day had started out so well…breakfast under the covers seemed light years away from this mess.

In just a pair of underwear and a camisole, I balled up in the blankets and gave into a moment of feeling sorry for myself. Since Edward had begun showing me some attention, I'd heeded the old cliché about not looking a gift horse in the mouth. He was here. I was here. He turned my black-and-white world into a Technicolor production. What more could a plain girl like me ask for?

I'd never really allowed myself to believe that things would get this far, that I'd want something real with him, and now I regretted accepting our poor foundation.

Just about any Big Bad Wolf could blow my stick house over.

I'd tried with all my might to get his clothes off this morning and what was I really certain of? All the outrageous circumstances surrounding this "coincidental" meet-up on the other side of the globe and I was worried about what he thought of me the whole time.

In retrospect, my behavior seemed more than a little pathetic.

The truth was going to hurt. It would wound my practically nonexistent ego, but it had to be faced to move on.

I wiped my wet cheeks on the sheet and put my clothes on. Alice had left a neatly folded pile of designer goods for me, again. I wanted to wad them up in favor of my jeans and sweater from last night but the stench of stale cigarette smoke was stronger than my desire to snub her.

For once, practical clothing awaited me.

The jeans weren't mine but they felt like I'd been wearing them since high school. The denim was faded and buttery soft. With them was a dark green cashmere turtleneck that felt like heaven.

When I unfolded the turtleneck, a piece of paper fluttered to the floor.

* * *

**_Bella,_**

**_I will never regret bringing you into this family but I'm sorry I've made you feel like you don't belong._**

**_Nothing could be farther from the truth._**

**_Please give me the chance to explain. That's all I can ask._**

**_Love,_**

**_Alice_**

* * *

Of course she knew I would be upset.

But how much did she see of our discussion downstairs if Jake disturbed her visions? If she knew what we'd concluded was the reason for all the spy games, would she regret bringing me here then?

I rushed through washing up and getting my hair in some semblance of order. Pieces stuck out in every direction but I couldn't be bothered with doing better than a messy bun.

I slipped my shoes on and went back downstairs, more ready for the rest of the day.

* * *

Carlisle was sitting in the living room with Esme, Jake and Edward assembled around him. They were discussing the preparations for our trip in terms I was unprepared to consider. Where I was concerned with academia, they were worried about securing perimeters. I'd been afraid that I might not have the amount of draping it would take to turn a spare bedroom into a documents lab, and they were debating the minimal manpower we would need to keep "just a human" safe in the event that my supernatural stalker showed up.

A mug of Earl Grey had been placed beside the loveseat and I sat down in the seat for two. Alone.

As I was sinking into the cushions, Jake addressed Carlisle. "I've never come across a scent like the one on those notes Bella found before I came to London. But it was at the Copelands' and the cemetery that–"

Edward interrupted. "The cemetery? When?"

"The only time I found you in a cemetery. Someone is watching Bella and, like I told you before, the scene I came across that night was all shades of wrong. Even her stalker must've thought something was going down."

Edward closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. "Yes, Jake, for a mind-reader, I can be pretty obtuse sometimes."

Jake's eye-roll was practically audible. "I wouldn't use the word 'obtuse' in conversation."

"Yes, but I wouldn't use that other word you were thinking. Anyhow, the point was valid even with my editorializing and I felt that I would acknowledge its truth for everyone here. It won't be the last time it's the case." He looked at me apologetically.

I nodded and gave him a tiny half-smile of reassurance.

Carlisle spoke. "Yes, well. I think we've all been a bit, ahh, 'obtuse' since you've entered our life, Bella. And maybe the others have the excuse of not having had humans in their immortal lives before but, as I'm told you've put together, it's not the situation for me.

"I've tried to walk the fine line of being truly involved in the life of a human before. I didn't fare too well the first time, either."

"It's okay, Carlisle. I'm sure each of you is doing your best individually. I just feel like the ball in your complicated game. I'm tired of being tossed around and fought over while I have little or no say-so. I wish you guys were on the same page where I am concerned.

"So, please, let's get on the same page. Tell me about your acquaintance with Sophie and William. Did you even know William?"

He smiled fondly. "I did. He was my friend and the real reason all this started."

Carlisle told the story of being befriended by the Copelands after William came to purchase a very unusual item from Carlisle's shop. It was for an experiment they'd read about and were trying to duplicate. Carlisle's storefront carried the highest quality chemicals of any the Copelands knew and William came back many times over the next weeks.

William invited Carlisle to salons around London that he attended, asked his opinion on his own readings and gradually became comfortable around him.

Men interested in chemistry, anatomy or mathematics were on the edge of social respectability in the late seventeenth century. They were looked down upon as shadowy characters skirting the norms of human behavior, snatching dead bodies from recent graves to defile. They practiced a mixology that resembled witchcraft a little too closely for many's comfort. Using reason as a basis for decision-making required too much trust in the unseen for most people to see it as anything other than faith.

Its converts were tiptoeing around the edge of sacrilege.

William recognized in Carlisle a kindred spirit and, unable to keep anything from Sophie for very long, had him included in their academic pursuits in no time.

As interested as he was in human discoveries, Carlisle's knowledge of the world of immortals he now inhabited was limited to the scraps he'd picked up from chance encounters or deduced on his own. He knew that there was one rule: keep the secret, no matter what. Any other rule was a corollary.

But no one had secrets to share on the subject of living around humans. The vampires who hunted in heavily populated areas were too competitive to tell any and the others didn't have any. Carlisle continued to figure it out on his own.

He was very careful to cover his tracks and so he was surprised when Sophie began turning her words against him. He had no idea how she figured out his secret.

She finally asked him to leave her alone. He assumed she hadn't requested that he leave altogether because she didn't want to hurt William. Unwilling to create turbulence in the lives of his new friends, he kept his distance from Sophie. It didn't prove too difficult a task. Not long after her dismissal, she went to Paris to visit her family.

According to Carlisle, monarchies were constantly on the verge of war. War for new territory, war to protect the lands they already held. The most frightening kind of war under a monarch, in his mind, was a civil war.

Your enemy knew the battlefields as well as you did; there was no advantage to home turf. Fighting for a land people already viewed as their own made them fight harder, more ruthlessly. And your enemies could live in your own household, especially if that home was a castle.

England was perched at the edge of revolution and all the kingdoms of Christendom were awaiting the disaster, smelling blood in the water. Carlisle feared for his friend's niece; not only that she was abroad in the midst of such a mess, but that she might begin to talk about his secret to others.

She sent a poem to William that was clearly about vampire Carlisle, a poem I'd read, and his fears seemed even more well-founded.

Another vampire would've killed her without a second thought but, for Carlisle, that was never an option.

He traced her to her aunt's home outside Paris and made contact there. Sophie was very unhappy at first but charming Carlisle inched his way back into her life.

In protecting Sophie, he came into contact with other vampires. He had to hide her knowledge from them. He also ran across another type of monster.

"Jake, have you ever had contact with the Children of the Moon?"

"No, but our tribe has stories about them. We tell the stories but the assumption is that they are extinct."

"Probably true. In any case, I bring it up for two reasons. First, it's important to the story I'm telling. And, second, I know you and Edward are having a hard time identifying the scent in Bella's room.

"Edward says he thinks it's not a werewolf but I wonder if it couldn't be something 'other.' Just because we know about monsters we can't assume we know everything about monsters. There could be creatures we don't understand involved."

Edward disagreed. "I like the way you're thinking, Carlisle, but it smells so much like a vampire that I can't push that out of my mind."

Jake countered. "I'm not totally disgusted by it though. It just can't be vampire, I would feel it down to my bones. I like Carlisle's theory." Jake and Edward maintained eye contact for a beat too long. Edward heard something passing through Jake's mind, no doubt, and I wondered what it was. I would make a point of asking later.

I asked Carlisle, "So you came into contact with a real werewolf? They really exist?"

"I haven't seen one in more than two centuries but they certainly did in 1688. I found the remains of a young werewolf's quarry and he wasn't far away. We struggled and I…prevailed.

"I destroyed the evidence of his killing sprees and, that night, I went to find his family to see how best to let them find out about his untimely death."

Until now, Carlisle's narrative had seemed rehearsed and forced. He settled into the story he was telling and, as he did, I began to understand the danger to which Jake and the Cullens had euphemistically referred.

* * *

****

Outside Paris, 1688

My clothes reeked.

I left the odor of fire and brimstone trailing behind me as I ran from the caves. The loup-garou I executed (I could think of what I'd done by no other term) had a name and a family and a home. I was determined to find an answer to the question of his identity.

In the meantime, I owed him a proper burial. I would give myself one day to decide what that entailed. Certainly, leaving a headless corpse for his family to find was not a kindness. I would have to think of another, much gentler, anonymous way to inform them of his demise.

How long I'd been following the trail that led that poor man to the cavern I explored with the humans, I was uncertain, but once I emerged from my despondent haze to recognize the scent urging me along I knew exactly why I was following it. I wanted to find his family. I owed it to them.

Seeing his family might give me some clue what to do with him.

A sliver of golden light beckoned from beneath the door of the small cottage. From inside also came the hushed tones of two women whispering about the sudden disappearance of one of their husbands. She knew he was never coming back.

"I am ashamed to be so relieved. What kind of wife breathes a sigh of relief at the thought that her husband won't return to her?"

"We both know the man he has been these last weeks is not the man you married. Something was wrong with him, very very wrong, cherie." She lowered her already quiet voice to a whisper before she continued. "He had a demon; your Pierre would never act that way to you or the boys. I only hope there is still a chance for his eternal soul."

The widow didn't contest her friend's forward comments but only sobbed gently beside her. I could hear two slumbering children in the next room and I wished she had the luxury of an empty house in which to grieve openly.

I'd eavesdropped enough; I knew all I needed to make a plan. Now I needed some peace of my own.

* * *

The run to Sophie's window took less time than it would normally. My nerves were frayed and twisted in ways I didn't think were possible for a stony immortal. I needed some assurance that, somewhere on the face of the globe, something was just as it should be.

Just hearing the languorous rhythm of Sophie's sleeping breaths would ease my mind. Their predictable coming and going was a testament to my ability to perform one task with some meager success.

But from my usual gargoyle's perch at the corner of the roof nearest her window, solace evaded me. Her breathing was anything but constant. Instead, ragged sobs shook her body. Even here, things were not what they should be.

The effects of my meddling knew no end, and in my mind I heard the twanging pop of my nerves stretched taut, then pulled past their breaking point.

Whole in body and whole in spirit were two different things, a fact of which I was acutely aware, though I had no business in stepping out of my role as guardian of just the one. But what use was her physical being if she were heartbroken?

And as she was probably sobbing over the events that happened on my "human outing" earlier today these tears were my responsibility.

Her window was cracked, icy air streaming into her room. She might have even stepped to the window ledge and whispered for me already this evening. I looked inside and realized she must be in her hideout between her room and the library.

There was still a chance to salvage this mess, to turn around and pretend that I hadn't just crossed a line. I did no such thing.

Pushing the window open, I crawled inside. I caught a glimpse of myself in her looking glass as I crept past it, glimpsing the creature that looked every bit the monster that it was – hair full of ash and debris, overcoat shredded and run through with twigs, face smudged with black soot.

I looked as wild as I felt. In such a state, I had no business near a human, much less Sophie after what she'd been through.

I shed my overcoat and wiped my face with the lining.

__

Carlisle, you can still leave.

But I knew I wouldn't. Madame de Marque had a family, someone to comfort her after what had happened today. Sophie had no one.

All the humans in the house were breathing the sleepy rhythm of their dreams except Sophie. I listened for an extra beat to be certain before I let her know of my presence. The incident on the balcony had made me wary.

I tapped lightly on the paneling and her sniffling abruptly stopped.

"Yes?" And then in an anxious whisper she added, "Carlisle?"

"It is. Are you quite alright? May I come in?"

"You might as well."

She was wrapped in a blanket, in the middle of what I could only describe as a nest of pillows and blankets. Two stacks of books were serving as a makeshift table with a tea tray perched on top.

Sophie's face was red and swollen from crying and her eyes crackled with something I'd not seen in them before – anger? The pitiful sight brought me to my knees in front of her. I tucked her hair behind her ears and kissed her forehead.

"I'm so sorry, my dear girl. I don't know how to make up for what I've done, for exposing all of you to that, but you especially. I came here to protect you and now… I will be more careful from now on, I promise."

Her tear-streaked face lit up. "'From now on?' Does that mean you don't have to leave after what happened today?"

That I should leave had been the case since my arrival. I should've retreated as soon as I felt drawn to the heat from her skin. But I didn't then and I couldn't now. Maybe I should have feared the older werewolf whose playmate I'd ended, but I feared leaving Sophie to him even more.

Only a rainstorm could've washed away the scent of the trail I beat to her window. Not a drop had fallen to cleanse the evidence of my attachment to this human. "What happened today would not cause me to leave, in fact quite the opposite is the case. I will stay and see to it that no one is permanently harmed by…that.

"And why, all of a sudden, do you want me to stay?"

"I was angered at your existence, not at anything you have done. And I knew I couldn't be around you and stay angry for long so I wanted you to go away, to make it easy on me. I know how childish that sounds…I knew the moment the request left my lips it was ridiculous to require you to leave when I could do the same thing.

"So I came here and, finally, because I was forced to, I came to value your protection more than my vanity. I should never have said the shameful things I did and I'm sorry. What you are is less important than what you do about it.

"And I could never condemn you for your choices. The Carlisle I know is a genuinely good man and I hope that counts for something in the heavens."

When I hunted, I was careful to not let my prey know in advance they were being stalked; it seemed unkind to chase and torture them. Occasionally they spotted me just a split second before I buried my teeth in their corded neck muscles and surprise mingled with the absolute certainty of their imminent death for a fraction of a moment.

I was certain my features wore that same look of horror.

For form's sake, I managed to choke out a response. "I hope so, too."

She knew. She knew I was a monster and we would both die for my recklessness.

"Did you find what did…that in the cave? Is that where you ran off to?"

She was asking me something. I needed to answer. "Yes."

"And it…?" She looked to me to finish her thought.

"I took care of it."

"That's as I'd hoped."

Her blasé acceptance of such a deed shocked me back to concentrating on the conversation at hand. That a lady so protected would ever utter such a sentiment saddened me. "You should never be put in the position to have to feel that way about any creature, Sophie. I am more of a monster for forcing you into such a situation."

"There is no reason to pretend that women have a gilded life, Carlisle, however gilded the cage. Our bodies are torn in half bearing children and then we spend the remainder of our lives dealing with the reality that most of our heart is walking around outside our chest, ten times more vulnerable than the part left behind our ribs – an experience I am as frightened of as I am anxious for. We are subjected to the desires of others and ignored more often than we are praised for our virtue and beauty.

"I am under no pretense. Nor, I am sorry to be the one to disillusion you, are most women."

Then she smirked. "Mother bears have earned their reputations. Human mothers lack the claws or they'd do exactly what you did today, whatever it was you did out of my line of sight, to protect their families. I think Madame de Marque would agree – we are thankful you acted in our behalf. Don't apologize for the need to keep us safe."

My hands were alabaster white, not a trace of wolf under my fingernails or between my fingers, but I would never see them as clean again. I had never put a creature with thoughts and feelings like my own to death. I had crossed a bridge and could never go back.

I scrubbed my hands through my hair and brought them back down to eye level to examine. I wished I could sob. I wished for salty, cleansing tears to fittingly mourn the loss of the fragile remnants of my innocence. But none came, nor would they ever.

There was little chance that the Marquis didn't already know of his playmate's death. And even less chance that the snow threatening to fall would be enough to mask a trail right to Sophie's window.

Maybe it will turn to sleet. It's early for snow.

Not a speck of Pierre's blood remained on my hands but I continued to search for evidence that they were soiled as the damning consequences of the day's activities continued to mount.

"Your hands are white as the driven snow; stop inspecting them. You made a decision I don't think anyone could condemn. Stop judging yourself for your heroics. You only damn me too...and Anais."

"I've never purposely harmed anything but an animal, I–"

"You think the creature responsible for that was something other than an animal?"

"I think he could've been taught something else."

"With only you between him and me, I am not in a position to feel that way. Would you risk finding another massacre in favor of his life? You have to let go of this guilt eventually.

"I know I don't have the memory of his death forever etched into my mind but the carnage he left behind I will have seared into my cache of memories. Finding anything worth salvaging in that soul was a gamble. A gamble I am relieved you didn't make."

I wasn't sure if it the fact that she'd obviously been in the small space for a while so that it was thoroughly saturated with the scent of her flesh, or if I just wanted absolution so desperately but her words and the clean slate they offered were intoxicating. That I deserved mercy from any creature, especially from one so fragile, was a heady prospect.

The gesture had the simple dignity of a child's hand in your own, the kind of trust you cannot talk your way into or out of.

I'd never had a relationship this close in all of my immortal life; I had no inkling whether one had occurred in the one prior. My head swam at the prospect of knowing someone who trusted me enough to feel certain that I'd done the right thing, even when I couldn't convince myself.

"And while I'm sharing confidences, Carlisle, I need you to understand how wrong I was to chase you off. I can't extend any forgiveness but my own but I want you to know it's there. So maybe we can agree to absolve one another so that, at least between the two of us, we have a clean slate somewhere?"

"Sophie, you were in the right to chase me off. But I don't want you to harbor this guilt forever." I could see her stiffen and I knew that all she wanted was for me to accept the extended apology. She wouldn't feel excused unless it came from me.

So, God forgive me, I gave in.

Again.

"Of course I forgive you, Sophie. Our slate is clean."

Sophie smiled sweetly. "Carlisle Cullen, I don't care what you have done. I don't even want to know about your past, your present is so convincing. You are beautiful, inside and out."

She wriggled her warm little arms out of her blanket, the fabric covering dipping enough to uncover her shoulder and the line of a clavicle. In my peripheral field of vision, I could tell she was lifting her arms – to cover some skin, if my most fervent prayers could have been answered.

She took my hands in her own but looked somehow disappointed. "That just won't do."

She leaned forward and wrapped her arms around my shoulders, settling her head into the crook of my neck. Gingerly, I wrapped my own arms around her. I heard her sigh contentedly, and when she spoke the sound vibrated through her chest into my own.

"Whatever wrongs you've done are prior to this moment. You have to move forward as if there is hope because, if you don't have hope, what do you really have? Nothing. It's all meaningless without hope of something better, so why not use your time on this earth doing something hopeful?"

She had a valid point. My long-range view would certainly change what I did in the short term.

She continued her plea. "I can't bear to see you forlorn. You will try not to be, right? I will do all I can to help."

"You've done more than I know how to express. How about a change of scenery? It is almost dawn and I'd like to show you something."

"Something outside?"

"Yes. I know I don't have the best record for outings, but I'd like to show you something…hopeful."

"Certainly. I need to change. What should I wear?"

"Just riding clothes."

"Stay here. I'll step into my room to change."

"No…I can step out–"

"If you wanted to watch me change clothes, you could have probably done so any number of times. I think I feel safer with you in here anyway, after the day I've had."

All I could do was nod. She closed the panel tightly behind her and I heard the sound of cotton shifting across skin and then coarser wool over the cotton. I was embarrassed, knowing that she was in some state of dishabille in the room beyond.

I remembered we would need an alibi for her departure so I wrote a note in her handwriting. And then I waited.

I waited for quite some time and then I listened carefully, trying to figure out just what she was doing. I heard the snap of leather on leather and then a sharply exhaled huff of air.

She was struggling with…a boot, maybe?

I heard her whisper, "Carlisle."

I cracked the panel open, carefully not peeking out, and answered. "What is it?"

"I can't button these riding boots on my own."

She'd propped her foot up on a stool in front of her but could barely reach the button-closures, much less manipulate them.

I put my hands behind her leg and had to remind myself to slow my movements to human speed to avoid scaring her. I held her leg for what seemed to be an interminably long time. She silently lowered the first leg and raised the other one to the stool.

Rustling skirts caused a waft of scent to wash over me and Tristan's crass comment about Sophie as my toy came to mind. _Can you imagine the cloud of scent when she unlaces her stays? Ah! You certainly do have impeccable taste, Carlisle._

I shook the inconvenient memory. It had no place here.

I made quicker work of the second boot.

"I need to write a note to leave and then we can be on our way."

I handed her the note I'd written.

"I should've known. I'll be right back."

"Allow me, I'll be quieter."

"Round table in the foyer. And, unlock the door so it looks as if I went out that way."

The sun had barely lightened the edge of the night sky and not a soul stirred in their sleep. I placed the note on the table and turned the lock with the key there.

Sophie stood in front of her open window when I returned.

"So, that night when I climbed onto the ledge like a fool – what would you have done if I'd stepped off it?"

"I would've caught you before you hit the ground. You would've been back in your room without your feet ever having touched the grass. Your safety was more important than my pretending you didn't know I'd followed you here."

"Is that how I am going to get down? I'll jump and you'll catch me? I don't get to walk out the door like a grown woman?"

I suppressed a chuckle. "I'll just jump down with you, if that is alright with you. I don't think we could've gotten you out the door without waking your aunt's giant dog. I had to climb the stairwell to get around him as it was. You'll never even notice you've left your room, if you close your eyes."

"And miss something? I will make it through. I just wanted the particulars before we got started."

I stepped up on the ledge behind her, intending to hold her around the waist and let her remain upright. The moment she leaned back into my chest, I realized that was not the best idea.

I scooped her up and jumped down before I could analyze it further.

"Where are we walking?"

"I am running, if we intend to get there and back in time for you to make breakfast. I'll carry you on my back."

"So, when I tell my cousins that I've gone riding, I won't be lying?"

"Precisely."

"I sit to the left, if that works for you."

I know I looked confused. I had no idea what she meant.

"No lady straddles her mount, Carlisle."

I was speechless and without argument. The more I thought about it, the happier I was that she mentioned it. Her legs around my waist was…ill-conceived.

"To the left, then, Miss Copeland."

Clearly, I hadn't thought this jaunt through at all. I began the run and her grip on my neck tightened. I felt every change in position, every gasp, every heartbeat.

The monster inside me kept mentioning the alibi we'd left behind and how far we were from any person. We ran to a frost-covered clearing, arriving just as the sky began to turn from lavender to rose. In the cold early morning air, the clearing was lovely but nothing that warranted a clandestine run through the forest.

Sophie slid off my back and I took my jacket off, placing it over a fallen tree for her to sit on.

"It's lovely here. Is this place special to you?"

"Only because it is so far from people. I can let my guard down a bit, enjoy the sun."

"Will you disappear in the light…be just a walking suit of clothes?"

"No. You'll see soon enough. So, I need to say something before the sun comes up, an ulterior motive for this morning's run. Now that you know my secret, are you afraid of me?"

"Of course not. Not to be offensive – I'm sure you can be very fearsome. But you have no intention of harming me. You've let too many opportunities pass you by."

"I need to ask a favor of you, one that I feel silly even having to verbalize. But it's that important; it has to be said."

"If it is important to you, it is to me as well."

"I need your promise never to speak of this to anyone. Even if they clearly know what I am, you must pretend not to know. It will mean my life and, more importantly, yours."

"I promise, Carlisle. I will pretend that you are as human as I. In all the ways that matter, you are."

"Thank you, my friend. Thank you."

I stood before her in thoughtful silence for a moment, waiting for my one moment to be beautiful, if only on the outside.

"The sun is rising. What hopeful thing did you bring me here to share? You are running out of time."

Over Sophie's shoulder, the first golden rays of sunlight fought through the trees, making dappled shadows that played in the mist rising from the frosted grasses around us. Slowly, the light made its way higher, glinting off my bare hand.

That first dance of light on my skin was so faint, I think Sophie dismissed it as something she'd imagined. When the light refracted off my hand gained intensity rather than fading, a smile lit her face so brightly that I was sure it was reflected by my skin as well.

"You look like an angel."

"Well, appearances can be deceiving. We all look this way; it is beautiful but it serves to keep us out of the daylight. It makes us nocturnal so humans can do as they please during the day without our interference."

"You look just like the frost."

At my feet, the tiny ice crystals made the blades of grass glitter much the same as I did.

"It is a good sign, what you've shown me. No creature so beautiful can be eternally damned, Carlisle. I don't believe you lost your place in heaven. You already look as if you belong."

"Oh, sweet girl. I wish it were that simple. I don't know what my fate is. I just know that the monster I am is ruled by dangerous wants that I am only now learning to rein in."

Sophie blushed. "I've overstepped. I didn't mean to insinuate that I knew better–"

"I cannot let go of the ugliness long enough for you to enjoy a bright spot in our morning. Forget I mentioned it. I am easily distracted."

She indicated my hand. "May I?"

I extended it slowly and knelt before her while she examined my hand, turning it over like an artifact, memorizing it. "Have you read Newton's theories about white light actually being a mix of colored rays? I don't know why I'm asking – if I have, you have. Anyhow, Mariotte has tried unsuccessfully to duplicate Newton's experiment with the prism and here you are, wearing the evidence on your skin!

"I have half a mind to present you to the Academie myself."

I'd wondered on the way to the little clearing just how Sophie would react. This possibility hadn't even crossed my mind.

I was overjoyed with her reaction but it was no excuse. I watched her examining me, not seeing anything amiss in my inhumanity, and realized that no other soul might ever feel that way about me again.

I took her tiny jaw in my hand and ran my thumb down it to the point of her chin, holding her ever-moving face still for a moment to examine it. "I never expected so much from you, for you to insist on my forgiveness and that I take yours. And I never imagined that you would see me as anything other than monstrous."

She lowered her lashes and I tipped her chin up enough to let her know I wouldn't allow her to acquiesce. I lowered my face to hers and asked, "Might I be so forward as to kiss you?"

Had I a heart, it would have drummed its way out of my chest waiting for her reply.

Her barely whispered response was, "Please."

I placed my lips to hers in a fit of optimism. They were sweet and soft and warm and so embodied everything that I'd ever wanted – but not known enough of to ask for – that I knew it was wrong. I felt as though I'd found my Christmas present weeks early.

The bliss was tempered with the knowledge that I was going to have to put this gift back in its hiding place. I knew I would have to put it behind me. I began drawing my stony lips from hers when I realized that her now ungloved hands were on either side of my face.

She pulled and it was her body that moved forward, not mine. When I remember that kiss, I salve the stabs to my conscience with that mitigating fact. She slid onto her knees and held herself flush against me, so close that I could plainly feel her shivering against the cold.

Without taking my mouth from hers, I stretched my arms around her and pulled the coat she'd been sitting on over her quaking shoulders. My arms around her were just to hold the coat in place, I reasoned.

A little sigh floated up from her open mouth, the most angelic sound I'd ever heard. Her heartbeat sped up and her apples and heavy cream smell began to change as it always did when her body temperature rose.

_I wonder…._

I slid my tongue over the inside of her bottom lip to satisfy my curiosity. I'd guessed correctly. Even the way she tasted changed.

I horded her mouth in mine and seconds turned into minutes. I memorized every inconsequential detail of her face with my fingers, every inch of her mouth with my own. I shook her hair loose and played with the thick strands until my hands smelled like her.

She was an overload of responses for my long-denied senses and I couldn't get enough.

I feathered kisses up her jawline to her cheekbone and across the bridge of her nose. I traced the sensitive dip behind her ear with my nose and then placed my mouth there. Sophie shivered and arched her neck back.

My mouth was in the hollow above her collarbone, feeling the arterial pulse beneath my lips, when I heard her utter my name like a prayer.

I realized in that moment that I had crossed the not-so-fine line from bumbling idiot to rake in the shortest amount of time anyone had ever heard of. Vampires were quick learners but I was certain this was a first.

I kissed her mouth one last time, softly. I wanted the last taste of that kiss to be chaste and tender, even if nothing else about it had been.

I helped her to her feet. She seemed to know something was amiss and brought my mouth down to hers with some force. She couldn't have accomplished such a feat without at least my acceptance, I know.

That last kiss had an edge to it, a desperate promise seething beneath the surface that I only recognized years later as a plea for me to stay.

Good-bye comes tinted so many different ways, just like the light passing through Newton's prism. If a dozen people tell someone farewell, it has two dozen different variations. It can be momentary, long enough to take a gift to a neighbor, or eternal, with no knowledge of what death will bring either person.

I will never see light passing through a prism that I don't think of the sunlight passing through the single tear on her flushed cheek. Or the salty-sweet taste of that tear on my lip.

"You are freezing. I can't believe I've kept you out here."

"It was worth every freezing second, Carlisle."

"Yes, well, let's get you home."

* * *

****

London, 2009

"How long after that did you leave?"

"I didn't leave for months. But she knew the moment I stood her up that I was going to leave. I never kissed her again and she never seemed to expect that I would. So when I finally could take her back to England, she asked that I take her to Allesworth instead of to William's home or her home in town.

"She sent word ahead and the house was ready for us.

"I left while she was sleeping the second night we were back in England. I was afraid something awful would happen, so I spent two nights in the trees just beyond the house. Both nights she spent on her knees outside, begging me in a whisper to stay. How many nights after she spent that way, I don't know.

"I swear I still hear her sometimes."

Carlisle dropped his head into his hands. Esme traced his shoulder with her fingertips and he grasped at them like a lifeline.

Edward picked up the narrative where Carlisle was too emotionally spent to form the words aloud.

"If she wrote anything about Carlisle, it would be at that house, as would any evidence of something tragic happening to her. We need to search the grounds and make sure she is beneath the gravestone bearing her name.

Jacob spoke up. "Carlisle, something about that story isn't hitting right with me. Maybe you are overlooking something that happened while you were with Sophie, something that didn't seem important at the time. I'm not vampire-sharp, but I'll put it together and call you with any questions. Would that be alright with you?"

"Of course, Jake. Whatever it takes to get to the bottom of this, I will do. Edward has listened to me remember this more than once. I know he's not a first-person perspective, but he's pretty close. If it is more convenient, feel free to ask him questions as well."

The five of us sat in silence for a moment, considering the tale we'd just heard.

I was certain the other four could hear my nervous heart hammering away, though they were too polite or absorbed in something more important to mention it.

Rather than waste any more time, I addressed the thundering drumline they were all doubtless trying to ignore. "I know the timing is inconvenient, but I need a few moments with Edward before we leave and I think this might be my last opportunity before the train leaves the station. Can I borrow him for a while?"

Three voices were a murmured chorus of affirmatives and volunteers to run errands in preparation for the short trip to Kent.

I had Edward all to myself within moments

* * *

**Author's Note: **I'd like to recommend the work of two friends this week.

I began posting this story because of the encouragement of Gothic Temptress and CosmoGirl7481. GT's one-shot, "The Summer of Lethe" took second place in the recent "Summer Lovin'" contest (first in the popular vote). It is angst and redemption and heat all rolled into one. Do yourself a favor and have a peek.

Also in fic-news this week, SpringHale began posting her multi-chapter piece, "Never Bargained for You," that has the promise of mystery and so much more. We know how I love a mystery...

My Darling Clementine, thank you so much for busting your beautiful bottom on this chapter. Every trip to the grcery store should include werewolves and computer hacking, no?

Danni, I hope you are enjoying yourself and thank you for holding my hand.

As always, I am looking forward to your thoughts.


	18. Chapter Seventeen

_**Disclaimer:** The Twilight Saga _and its characters belong to Stephenie Meyer.

* * *

Jake paused, not following Carlisle and Esme out of the room.

He touched my shoulder and I looked up at him. I didn't quite know what to expect but his furrowed brow and pursed mouth warned me off being nonchalant about listening. "Bells, I know how aggravating it is to have someone make decisions on your behalf. But I also get to hear Sam obsess over the decisions he is forced to make. Be sure you find out how much obsessing went into all this before you drop the hammer on them. I'm not saying they're right; I'm just saying it might not be what it looks like."

I was irritated but I nodded. "Thanks. I think I know what you're getting at."

"I'll see you the day after tomorrow."

I stood and hugged my best friend. "I'll see you then. Don't do anything stupid."

Jake smiled his new-Jake, gasp-inducing smile as he exited. My heart ached inexplicably. Something had changed in him, in most ways for the better, but I already missed the boy replaced by this man.

I hoped Edward realized that patience was the better part of valor and was not simply staring at my backside while I gathered my thoughts. Not an easy task, rounding up the questions doing laps in my brain. My Jake musings had derailed me for a moment.

One jumped to the fore and refused to wait her turn (that this thought was not male I had no doubt).

"Before I get into the particulars of who manipulated Miss Swan in the library with their immortal charms, just talk to me about one detail."

"Anything."

"Don't. Don't 'anything' me right now. Don't be charming or sweet or any of the other things you've done to divert my attention from the truth in the past because it's only going to feel like a lie now. I need you to be as cut-and-dry about this as you can."

"Look at me, Bella."

I continued staring a hole in the globe on the bookshelf to my left. "I can't look at you, Edward. I can't look at you and form coherent sentences, much less have a meaningful conversation. If I could do this via text, I think I would consider that. Cutting corners right now only short-changes both of us."

"I won't try anything. I just feel so…shut out."

I could have lied to myself and pretended that I didn't gain some grim satisfaction at his admission. But honesty was the order of the day and I _did_ feel gratified that my feelings weren't the only ones wounded by being shut out of some noteworthy proceeding.

"I'm not trying to shut you out. I'm just trying to keep this conversation from deteriorating into a make-out session."

"So, that option is off the table?"

"Not helping."

"Of course. I _am_ sorry. What can I tell you?"

I took a breath and jumped in. "Did you really make a conscious decision to leave me at some point?"

"I didn't want—"

I cut him off. "A simple 'yes' or 'no' for now, please."

"Yes."

"Thank you. When did you decide to leave me? And _why_?"

"I decided I needed to stay away from you the first time you walked into Biology class…and then again after Tyler's van almost hit you. But, the last time I decided to leave you alone, the time that stuck, was just after Jake phased for the first time."

He stopped talking for a minute and I almost looked up to see why he paused. Lowering his pitch, he asked, "Why does this feel like a cross-examination?"

"Because it is, I guess. You've had time to present your case, time to get me up to speed and there are gaps in what I need to know. I am coming back to the facts to get some more information before I come to some sort of verdict, so I guess it is a cross-exam."

I took a sip of the lukewarm liquid in my cup. "Why did you leave after Jake started phasing? Wait—when did Jake start phasing?"

"It was March of your senior year. At the start of school, I'd spread the word that I went to Switzerland to complete high school when, in reality, I couldn't bear to be away from you long enough to hunt. Every single time you stumbled or hurt yourself, I had to fight so hard to keep from rushing to your side.

"That's all I've ever wanted to do, you know: keep you safe and happy.

"And I convinced myself that I could do that from a distance. I resigned myself to the idea of watching you, protecting you from major calamities and letting you have a normal human life.

"Then, Jake started phasing and I knew I couldn't be anywhere near you without starting a war with the wolves. At first he seemed to want to stay away from you but, of course, that didn't last long. Not that I can blame him for trying. So I stepped aside, knowing that he cared for you and would have the ability to protect you eventually.

"I only showed my face for graduation, the one occasion I could get away with."

"You cared for me all that time and never told me? I thought you hated me at the time and I…I hadn't really thought about what you felt back then since my perspective of you changed recently. Why did _you_ run from _me_? I can't hurt you."

"There's where you're wrong. There is nothing or no one on the face of the planet that has the power to hurt me like you do. But initially, the danger was how powerfully your scent drew me.

"This makes me feel especially monstrous to talk about. Forgive my reticence; I would rather not tell this to your back. Would you allow me that?"

_You can do this._

_You can do this._

_If you can't hold your own in a conversation where he's admitted you have the upper hand, how can you ever expect him to treat you as a partner? Or how will you ever view him as an equal? Start now, Bella. _

"Fair enough. I like the view anyway." I turned in time to see a smile flit, moth-like, across his face.

"Thank you."

He looked vulnerable, almost as uncovered as the night he played piano for me at the end of our date. "My family and I, we all fight the baser urges of being a monster. I know we've already talked about this some, but I want to make sure you are under no illusions where I am concerned."

He looked at the ground like a scolded puppy, breaking eye contact. "Every human has foods that they view as favorites; I'm sure you do, too."

"Of course. I have a renewed fondness for waffles of late. I'm not certain where it came from."

He didn't even smile; it made me feel like the floor might open up beneath me at any moment. "Yes, well, for us it's…different. The desire for blood is a basic part of our being once we are turned; newborns think of little else. As we mature, we get a handle on how to control it. The burning thirst never goes away entirely but we learn how to keep it down to a dull roar…mental background noise, for lack of a better term.

"But just like a normal speaking voice in a noisy bar is a scream in a library, under different circumstances the pull towards someone's blood can be stronger. Some smell better under stress or in the rain or when they are warm…I think you understand. Anyhow, that isn't the case with you."

I was lost. I didn't see how this had anything to do with his running away from me.

"Some blood is so…appealing, for lack of a less-disturbing word, that it calls to a particular vampire like a siren. No matter the circumstance, your blood sings to me like no one else's. It's why I am so guarded about being alone with you or getting carried away physically. I have my inner monster on a tight leash, even more so where you are concerned.

"You were—still are, for that matter—my siren, calling me like nothing I've ever experienced. Had I consumed you that day, I would've destroyed my family, your family, myself. I've never killed an innocent; I can't imagine having started with you.

"And, to make it worse, I've never tried to listen to someone's thoughts and been met with silence. You were indescribably frustrating…I…I've never…."

"I really was a siren to you…calling you to disaster at my feet."

"We had such an unbeatable system. If anyone began to connect our family with a character from, say, Anne Rice or Bram Stoker, the next day we would be simply a memory, having relocated the night before. Or if Alice saw anything too challenging, like Jasper being tempted beyond his breaking point by a human who didn't obey their instinct to give us a wide berth, she could warn us and prevent a tragedy."

"That's what you meant by saying Alice had saved you often enough that you didn't even think twice about it anymore. She's your safety net."

"Precisely. And you took every safety feature away from us. I used the comings and goings of occasional nomad vampires as justification to stalk you until Jake phased. At that point, I was out of an excuse and I knew he'd come after us if I didn't keep my physical distance. I wasn't that greedy so I left."

I let his tale settle in. "I can live with those facts."

Edward shook his head and choked out a wry snort. "Barely."

"Well, I can, can't I?"

"I will make sure of it, love. I will make sure of it."

"So now that I understand, here's The Rub. I love you and— "

As he cut me off, a series of expressions comical in their combination, danced across his face. "You do? You do. I…how is that a 'rub?'"

His rumpled brow smoothed when he realized that his question was its own answer. And then, just when I thought he was going to return the sentiment, concern marred his bliss.

In his defense, I hadn't said it out loud before but I liked the way it sounded hanging in the air. And I liked that it had bubbled up without my having to force it. I could definitely see a habit forming.

"I would demonstrate how but I think you already promised that this wouldn't devolve into making out before I got to my point."

"You stated it was _your_ intention that this not deteriorate into snogging on the armchair. I can deal with such a turn of events, should we be forced into such a compromising situation. On any piece of Esme's furniture. Consider that a warning, Miss Swan.

"You were saying, before I interrupted?"

"I love you and I want—"

He interrupted a third time. "Say it again. Just one more time and I can get through the rest."

I didn't have the strength to say it from across the room again. I practically leapt over to where he was balanced on the edge of the couch, sitting perfectly upright, and crawled into his lap. I whispered, "I love you, Edward. I will always love you."

He leaned me back onto the couch before I could even protest. Not that I would have. "You are my breath, my heart…."

I'd already melted. How I didn't slip between his fingers was beyond me.

Looking into my eyes, he continued, "I love you, Isabella Swan. Now finish giving me my tongue-lashing so I can reciprocate."

He kissed me chastely on the forehead; my fingers itched to tangle in his hair and pull his mouth to mine.

We leaned back up, both of us a bit disappointed.

"So, here's my problem. I've taken to referring to it as 'The Rub'—capital 'T', capital 'R'. I don't want to be given every little thing I express an interest in. But things, especially material things, seem so easy for your family to come by that you have no problem indulging my every fancy. Presents I can deal with; everyone gives presents.

"I can deal with letting Alice buy me clothes occasionally. I can certainly deal with Esme doting on me and making dinner when I visit. It's fairly normal.

"But I cannot handle having my life delivered to me, my every whim indulged with the seriousness that only things like curing cancer and ending world hunger deserve. Some kind of balance has to be struck."

I took a deep breath and locked eyes with Edward. "Alice arranged that grant; I didn't earn it."

Edward didn't move. He didn't say I was right but, more damning, he didn't say I was wrong.

"Did I?"

He shook his head. He wanted to say something else but held out.

"Say it, Edward…out loud."

"Alice arranged the grant to get you here."

My lungs deflated with a heavy sigh. "It sucks, hearing it out loud."

"I'm so sorry."

"I knew that if I heard you say it out loud, I wouldn't think I was making a mountain out of a molehill and obsess about it more. Now I can deal with it and move on. I don't deserve to be here but something amazing has come out of it so I will be thankful."

"That is where you're wrong. _You_ were accepted to the Masters program here. _You_ have done the legwork. Hell, you've put together some amazing research. You deserve every penny of that money and then some."

"I will give your angle some thought."

A truce. I lingered in his arms and let it salve some of the sting.

"So this trip—what should I pack?"

His Cheshire cat grin was more than a little intriguing. "Funny you should ask. I have some ideas; Alice has a few surprises planned."

"I would worry if she didn't, at this point."

As we talked casually about our trip to Allesworth, a new plan began to hatch in my head.

Clearly, Edward had developed a tolerance to my presence. The last few days bore witness to that fact. But we'd hit a definite wall: all appendages stayed above the clothes. Once or twice his hand had roamed over my stomach, under my sweater. No buttons, zippers or flies had budged.

We could do better.

* * *

According to Alice and weather(dot)com, most of the day would be sunny once we left London. Edward was not a fan of chancing a discovery easily avoided so we would have to wait until well after lunch to hit the open road.

Edward packed the car in an indecently short amount of time.

By a quarter past ten, Operation Undress Edward had commenced.

My first loss on the battlefield happened at half past.

I sat, panting, on his bed. "I think I just got cheated out of a proper tongue-lashing."

"I won't put you at risk just to…to…."

I feigned innocence. "'To what', Edward?"

He saw right through me. "Bella, you will be the death of me. And you know exactly what I mean, so don't be coy. I want to devour you but sometimes the lines blur."

"So where are the boundaries?"

We sat remained very still, each of us obviously considering our boundaries. After a few minutes, he turned to me with a faint, crooked smirk. "Let's see where my limits are, love."

I could feel my heart pound; I knew he could hear it.

"Easy, now. Your limits are my limits. As long as I feel some semblance of control, I haven't crossed a line but you're going to have to help me if you want to adjust the limits of our _ah_, 'territory.'"

After a long breath, I answered. "I'm here to lay claim to my Manifest Destiny, sir."

"Far be it from me to stand in the way of progress." He put his mouth close enough to mine that I could taste his exhaled breaths. "Clearly, this much I'm doing well." He kissed my chin and down the center of my throat.

I moaned. "And that. You're doing that well."

His lips grazed my earlobe.

I practically purred. "Mmmm. Yes. That too. You have absolute control over the, um, northern territories, General."

I didn't hear his chuckle so much as I felt it on my windpipe, where our throats touched. I felt his lips stretch into a smile. "A sweep south, then?"

His mouth moved from the hollow at the base of my throat. I cursed the damned turtleneck. When I tried to remove it the last time his mouth was there, he'd stiffened and broken away.

This time, I made no move to take it off. I was learning to pick my battles.

Instead, I played with the belt loops of his jeans, letting my thumbs graze his hipbones and the hollow just inside them. The power of suggestion was more than my Edward could resist; he reciprocated by tracing the skin just above the waist of my jeans.

The silky camisole I had on kept peeking out and, before I knew it, my patience paid off. He slipped the turtleneck over my head. I was underneath him in a much less restrictive camisole and jeans with my hands under his shirt.

I was so proud that I wasn't even disappointed when he finally began peeling himself from me a few minutes later.

"You are such a little minx today. What's gotten into you?"

"I've been sandbagging for quite some time now; I'm still holding out, in fact."

"Really? Is that so, Miss Swan? Tell me all about it."

He called my bluff and I blushed. Not one to be swayed from making a point by something as commonplace as mortification, I refused to back down.

"I think we both remember what happened the last time we played this game…in my apartment…on the couch. Poor Mr. Blake is probably eternally scarred, even in his grave. Do you _really_ want me to tell you right now or do you want to put it off?"

"How about you tell me when we get to Allesworth? I think I'd rather not worry about an audience."

Without thinking, I licked my lips in anticipation and made Edward chuckle in response.

Shaking his head, he stood up from his bed and lifted me in a playful embrace. At least now I could stop wondering if that piece of furniture had a purpose. "You are absolutely telling me later. What do you say we get out of here? Carlisle and Esme will be back from the store soon and we can say our good-byes."

"Sure. I should put myself back together before that."

"Of course. Take your time, love."

I walked to my guest room and immediately texted Alice. I needed her to pick something up from the store for me.

* * *

Edward's itinerary for the drive to Kent was timed down to the minute. Even the British-rock-themed playlist was perfect. Learning about him like this—his music, his car, his stories—was fascinating. He even tolerated my hundred or so questions well.

Alice and Jasper had gone ahead and opened the house, dismissing the staff and ordering in dinner for me. Ordering in was not an option for their dinner so they were already off hunting when we arrived. They would be gone for most of the evening, according to their note, and would be back in time to watch me eat breakfast.

"Do you need to go with them? I can get a bath, settle in and take care of myself for a while if you do."

"I appreciate the thought. I will go sometime tomorrow with Jasper, though. Until we know who and what wanted to lead us here, I would rather not leave you unprotected. Jasper and Jake agreed that Jake would stay well away until all three of us had hunted so that Alice's vision of you is uninterrupted. He'll be here the morning after next.

Jake had another day and a half to wreak havoc; I couldn't wait to hear those stories.

"But you can certainly get a bath, or eat or anything else you need to feel better after the drive."

The house itself was quite a structure, even without seeing the landscaping or interior. Allesworth was a gray stone monolith with Gothic-arched windows and a front door that could keep an elephant afloat. It was love at first sight for me; I could see how it felt safe to Sophie.

She and I seemed to share a fondness for stony piles we had no business falling in love with. It seemed only fitting I'd love her home.

"Can I put off a bath? I'd really like a tour; the bath idea was just something to keep me occupied if you needed to leave."

"I hoped you'd say that. I'll carry your luggage to your room and we can get on with it."

Edward zoomed through the task of putting the luggage in our rooms. While I was waiting, I slid my shoes off and wriggled into the giant, yellow Wellies by the door. The clouds had only just started gathering but I couldn't imagine that this place ever completely dried out. Walking sounded like the perfect antidote to my morning of sexual frustration topped of with sitting in a car with the object of my desire. The boots made me feel like I was carrying around my own slice of sunshine. I wouldn't stoop so low as to say I was "walking on" it.

There were acres of gardens and landscaping and outbuildings and gazebos. The house seemed impressive but the grounds were what I was in love with. I could see them in every season: quince blossoms in the spring, roses in the summer, crackling leaves in the autumn, and the current starkness blanketed in white snow for the winter.

When I could hear the squish of muck as I plodded along with Edward, it occurred to me that we'd strayed from the path. We'd circled wide around the house and were now on our way back. It didn't bother me to see the same things twice; I didn't have a flawless memory like my companion.

"I don't mind walking back the way we came. My recall isn't perfect like yours; it'll still be interesting." I was only half-joking.

"Actually, there's another stop on the tour, if you're up to it."

I swallowed and looked away, suddenly uncomfortable. "Oh. Of course."

"Stop comparing yourself to me like that, love. Our lives are different but mine's certainly not better. For every trait I possess that you envy, you possess dozens that I would die for. The things I would like to forget…well, you'll see." He grew quiet as we walked into the trees a few steps.

"Come here and look." He held his arms out to me.

Edward was crouched on the ground, facing the house. I crouched down between his knees and he rested his chin on my shoulder, pointing straight ahead. I squinted, trying to figure out what he pointed at. It took me a few seconds, racking my brain for possibilities, but I put it together. About thirty yards away, towards the house, was a dip in the yard. From our crouch, we could see that shallow bowl of dead grass and two walls of windows on the house behind.

This was where Carlisle had listened to Sophie.

And the little indention was where Sophie made her last stand.

"Before we left the London house, I put away all of my trinkets related to you: a bottle cap, the cork from the first night you stayed, the one from our first date. There were a few more things, as well. I put them in a box and hid them under the floorboards in 'your' room there. If someone is trying to sabotage us, I don't want to lose them unnecessarily.

"Carlisle and I were wondering how the Copelands came to have in their possession so many of his letters and so few of Sophie's. I was thinking that she might have done the same thing; she might have hidden them."

"Where?" Did he have a point or were we just speculating?

"I don't think she would have carted them back to France, though I think that would've been her first choice. I think they're here. She came here and shored herself up as if she were preparing for a siege."

"You're killing me. Where do you think they are?"

"I think we're looking at them."

"In that low spot? It's perfect. That's where _he_ left _her_."

"After dinner, maybe we could have a look."

"Why not now?"

"I'm trying to go at a _human_ pace."

"We don't have that kind of time. Hurry up!" I smacked his bottom and chuckled.

He was off like a shot and back with a shovel in well under a minute. I had already walked to the spot, fighting the butterflies in my stomach the whole way. At just the thought of what could be beneath us, I wanted to dance a little jig. I fought the giant grin threatening to take over my face.

"It could be nothing; I'm probably wrong about this."

"I have a feeling you're not."

"It won't take long to find out. A human girl wouldn't dig too deep, especially if she didn't want anyone to know what she was doing out here, because she'd have to be quick about it. How deep would the hole you dug be?"

"Maybe three feet, if the box weren't too big and I were using a shovel."

"Three feet it is."

Carefully, Edward cut away the top layer of grass in four sections. About a minute later, a hole three by three by three opened up at my feet. An _empty_ hole.

I didn't see how Sophie could dig a hole much deeper than that, even using whatever kind of shovel she would've been able to get her hands on. I was tired just thinking about it.

"Do you think it's deeper than that?"

Edward still looked hopeful. "I'll keep at it."

I turned my head so he wouldn't see my disappointment.

The hole was almost up to his nose before he began to slow again. I'd given up already but I didn't have the heart to tell him to do the same. He began sifting through the dirt in one corner. Twilight had claimed the all the hazy sunshine filtering through the clouds and I couldn't make out the lumpy mass in his hands; it looked like a handful of roots.

And then it tinkled. Not like a bell, but it made the delicate, metallic noise of a set of keys.

Edward beamed at me. "Lean in so I can bring you down here."

As he fastened the soil-encrusted mass around my neck, over my turtleneck, I realized what he'd found: the ruby necklace.

But we'd found it on someone else's land. It broke my heart to think of this on display or shoved into a safe. "We'll have to hand this over to some stranger, won't we?"

"To Alice."

To Alice? She was the most obvious choice to hide it. She'd always know if someone were going to come looking for it.

"She purchased Allesworth, which is why we're visiting weeks earlier than I originally planned. I'm sure she will be fine with us cleaning this up in the meantime."

I didn't know whether to be overjoyed or irritated so I decided to worry about it later. "Do you think anything else is down here?"

He lifted a box. Inside were the earrings.

"It is engraved. Let's go inside and clean these up."

* * *

The box simply said, "For what could you ask that He wouldn't say Yes?" It was a quote that neither of us recognized. We sat in front of a fire in the kitchen tossing possibilities back and forth, getting nowhere, when my stomach growled.

"Bella. You must be starving. I will put that pastry thing in the oven. I'm no Esme, but I can follow directions. Alice left you a closet full of clothes, I'm sure you saw them. She suggested we dress for dinner now that we have an excuse, but we don't have to if you are too tired."

"For once, I think I might like that idea. I've never seen you dressed up for anything but graduation and I like the idea of not sharing with a hundred people. I can be ready in forty-five minutes."

"I can hardly wait."

* * *

In fifteen minutes, I stood, showered and shaved, in front of a closet full of clothes I'd never before laid eyes on. A single dress on a padded hanger hung from the garment hook with a pair of bronze peep toes below.

Waiting benignly on the closet shelf was a box emblazoned with the word "RISK." A few scraps of lace were folded and placed not-so-innocently just underneath the word, as if to underline it.

Alice must not have been content with just picking up my something at the store.

I dried my hair and pinned it up, taking a curling iron to a few stray pieces. Donning the lingerie was not easy for me but if I wanted Edward to move out of his comfort zone, I had to push past mine. Starting now. I slid the dress over the strapless bra and barely-there knickers. I knew that their practical purpose was to keep the lines of the lovely blue silk from being broken by lumps and bulges.

They had a less utility-driven purpose as well, one that also influenced my choice to wear them.

I gripped the stair rail for dear life as I descended.

Edward looked stunned, each footfall on the carpeted stair registering like an aftershock on his face. "You are breathtaking in that dress. I was unprepared for you to be so perfect; you should have warned me that you were shooting to kill, Miss Swan."

I blushed despite my best effort not to. Some things were just inescapable.

If I were shooting to kill, he was already successful. He wore a dark gray suit and a shirt the blue of the sea before a storm.

He brushed his lips across my cheek and walked me to dinner.

* * *

"Esme will be so proud of you when I tell her about dinner. This was delicious."

"You were famished; broiled leather in a convenience store nacho cheese sauce would've been fantastic. I shouldn't have let you go so long without eating. But, thank you. I was nervous it might not be okay."

"You are the best at everything you put your hand to…." _Now or never, Bella._ "…which is why I'd like to try something. I have a board game in my room. Want to play?"

"No one plays board games with me, for obvious reasons. That sounds like fun. I'll go get it."

"No…I'll get it. Just set up a table for us and freshen up my drink and I'll do the rest."

"Anything you say. Where do you want to play?"

"In the conservatory, by the pool."

Edward stiffened noticeably and the little notch appeared between his brows. "It's awfully cold outside tonight. It might be too chilly to play out there."

"If it is, you can carry me back inside and bundle me up."

"If you're sure…."

"I am."

Before he could protest further, I started for my room.

I heard him say, "It's just the two of us, Bella."

"That's all I need, Edward."

I got the distinct impression I was playing with fire.

* * *

By the pool, stars twinkled between gauzy strips of cloud. Under our glass dome, the night beyond was velvety-dense black. Edward had pulled a table over to the daybed and brought an Irish coffee for me. He stared at the box.

"'Risk?' Are you sure?"

"You think I can't take you, Mr. Know-It-All? Because I think I can."

"We're just out here to play a board game?"

_I thought he couldn't read my…Alice! Nothing stays a secret in this damned family._

"Yes. Just a game. Do you know the rules?"

He'd seemed wary since I mentioned coming out by the pool to play. "I thought I did. Are we adding any house rules?"

"Now that you mention it, I think we should."

He added in a desiccated tone, "Because you had nothing along those lines in mind until I suggested it."

"Nope. Not a thing in mind."

"What extras were you thinking of?"

"If I win, I will occupy the Northern _and_ Southern territories on this board. Every conqueror should be allowed at least a tour of their…holdings." I swallowed nervously and added, "I will, of course, submit willingly to any demands of occupation as well."

"Bella, I will not base an important step like this on a pair of dice."

"If you win, you can 'not demand' anything at all." I tried to keep my cool but he wasn't playing along and my desperation was building.

"Okay. And if I hit a limit?"

"I'll cease and desist."

"You have to stop licking your lips. We haven't even rolled the first die and you're already acting as if you've won."

I had, in fact, already won. No way in hell would I beat him at "Risk" but he wouldn't have considered this game even a few days ago.

"Ladies first, love."

* * *

I'd never played a game of "Risk" that lasted less than two or three hours. In fifty minutes, Edward had swept me off the board. He leaned forward and kissed me over the table, wrecking the board and any evidence of my defeat.

"I think I could've allowed you a more respectable showing but I couldn't take another minute of bad innuendo about plundering your lands and expeditions into virgin territory."

"Please. That was some of my best material, General. I saw you laughing."

"It's true. Please don't tell Emmett. He'll think it's open season on the bad puns and I'll never get any peace."

"Fair enough. What other terms are there to my surrender?"

"I am perfectly happy to leave the landscape as it is."

"What if I'm looking for a change? I mean, this dress will have to go sometime tonight. Why not now?"

"Bella, I can't…we can't…."

"Stop. It's too late to debate _that_ tonight, but I think I'm getting a better idea of what being physically close to me entails for you. I don't completely get it, obviously, but I promise I won't push too hard for now." I stood up and held out my hand for him to walk with me. I led him to a backless bench in front of the pool, somewhere he wasn't cornered, and motioned for him to sit down.

I knew better than to ask. Instead, I slid first one, then the other strap off my shoulders. Edward's eyes began to darken immediately; he wasn't breathing anymore.

I held the dress up with my right arm and slid the left out of the straps. Switching arms carefully, I repeated the action on the other side.

If I just relaxed, gravity would do the rest for me. I closed my eyes and felt the silk ripple down my body, wishing for cold fingertips to follow its path. I knew it was too much to ask.

No wonder people always stripped to music. This silence was eating me alive, threatening to swallow my mojo whole.

I stepped out of the pooled fabric and placed the garment beside Edward on the chaise. The click of my heels echoed in the space. He rearranged the dress reverently before looking at me.

"You're not breathing; it's fine if you don't say anything. I understand." Giving him a chance to adjust, I slowly stepped forward. He swallowed but didn't protest. It took three steps to close the gap between us and then I crouched carefully, trying not to disturb the air more than necessary.

"I am yours, _body_ as well as soul, so I'm not content with the idea that we'll never make love. I can think of too many ways to…." I changed direction. "…To be careful. Not that I imagine it's a difficulty you rejoice in. But I'll be patient—I can wait as long as you need me to. But I won't wait idly. No partner worth their salt sits with their hands at their sides when they can do something."

He nodded.

"Maybe we could go for a swim?"

He nodded again.

Edward flinched as I reached for him but I didn't hesitate. Deliberately, I began unbuckling his belt and untucking his shirt. I took each button slowly, giving him a chance to object at any time.

My fingers found boxers—why did that not surprise me? In fact, they made me smile.

Once we'd gotten him out of everything but his boxers, he walked to the door and took a few breaths of the cold air outside. I watched his back as his lungs filled and emptied a few times.

"You are really something, Isabella Swan."

"Are you getting in the water or not?"

He crossed the room in a few long strides and dove in gracefully. I waded in up to my waist and then turned my back to him so I could unfasten the back clasp of my bra.

"Please don't. I can't tell you why…I don't know why, exactly. Just not tonight."

I was relieved so I knew he'd done the right thing. _We'd_ done the right thing. "I think you're right. Now I'm pushing just to see how far I can get."

His head disappeared under the water and he swam to my side. "Thank you."

We played for a bit in the water before he asked if I'd brought a proper swimsuit. I hadn't but Alice had stuffed half a dozen in my chest of drawers.

Our nightly swims became just one of the benefits to trusting Alice.

* * *

After dinner and "Risk," I was too keyed up for sleeping. Edward had no intention of sleeping, obviously, so I convinced him to walk me around the house. Alice had acquired Allesworth no long after the Cullens relocated to London. Once she realized that I was researching Sophie and William, she figured that I would want Sophie's home to be on my itinerary at some point. Even if she had to suggest its inclusion.

Ever-anxious to be of service, she set out to ingratiate herself with the current owners. What she discovered was that the estate, and the title that went with it, were for sale. As much as the title appealed to her, she knew using it took away her necessary anonymity and asked for a delay in its endowment. Her claim was that, as a single gal, it might unduly influence a man into affection for her.

The best part of her research, according to Alice, was the price.

The asking price for Allesworth was €3,181,891.

Edward waited, making sure I didn't already know this obscure piece of Cullen trivia.

A politician named Alice Cullen—unrelated to my Alice—was born on March 18, 1891. I Googled it on his phone to make sure Edward wasn't playing with me.

Sure enough, there she was. Some random woman named Alice Cullen.

Alice's theory, according to Edward, was that whoever owned it at the time knew that fact might catch our little meddler's eye. Someone meant for Alice to buy Allesworth and, in turn, meant for us to visit. That someone was probably my stalker.

But for all the funny business, no one could smell anything inhuman on the grounds. Alice, Jasper and Jake had all been here and had smelled just one vampire in a sixty mile radius, and she was a nomad named Maggie whom the Cullens already knew. No sign of my stalker, either. But, it rained frequently here, degrading scents so nothing could be completely ruled out.

Edward was quick to remind me that the birth date connection could have been a coincidence. And so could JFK's assassination, but that didn't mean I believed it to be the case. Someone wanted us here.

Alice had decided against remodeling, an extraordinarily display of self-control according to Edward, until we investigated. So, she had gone with the light-colored walls and crusty, old flooring that were in existence and moved in her favorite antiques and salvage pieces. The resulting mix of pedigree and industrial was very Dutch. And incredibly chic.

How many feed sacks had it taken to recover those dining room chairs alone?

I found myself hoping she wouldn't do much more to it.

We wandered around for an hour or so before it hit me that I'd asked about the wine cellar three or four times and not gotten an answer.

"Well? Can I see it or not?"

"There's only one way in and out. I just don't want to get down there and someone show up."

"You guys keep talking about worst-case scenarios. Is that really an option? Are you really expecting someone to lure us into a cellar to slaughter us?"

"I don't know. But we've walked around enough that I'm more comfortable. Let's have a look."

As soon as we began walking down the stairs, I knew something was amiss. The lights were fine, the stone steps were sturdy, Edward seemed perfectly relaxed. But something I couldn't quite label was prickling the skin on the back of my neck.

Some stranger wants us to be here.

"Are you getting chilly? You can have my jacket." He'd only worn it because he thought I'd need it later. As I put it on, I heard the ruby necklace in the pocket.

_For what could you ask that He wouldn't say Yes?_

She buried a necklace that Carlisle said looked like her own blood. She was probably angry with Carlisle when he left, even if she was sad. It wouldn't matter if she'd loved him, leaving her like that would be hurtful.

And she buried those rubies so deep.

"Remember when I suggested that Sophie wrote the words on the inscription, maybe in a poem we hadn't yet read?"

"Yes. What could she ask Carlisle that he would decline? She sat there and begged and he walked away."

I smiled, Sphinx-like. "The 'H' is capitalized."

Edward shook his head at our now-obvious oversight. "'He' is the only He ever capitalized in literature."

"And what if the 'you' weren't Sophie? What if it were Carlisle?"

"The question becomes, 'what could Carlisle ask God that he wouldn't say Yes?' Which is probably what she meant, but I still don't see how it relates."

Something about this was coming together for me but my theories continued nipping around the edges of my consciousness before retreating beyond my grasp. "I don't either, not totally. But when you found the necklace and earrings, the necklace wasn't in the box, right?"

"Correct. And the earrings were only close by, not in it. The box was upside-down with them under it."

"She threw those things in the bottom of a hole—an enormous hole, by my standards. How a girl my size managed such a thing is beyond me. But, one thing at a time. What one thing would God deny Carlisle, even if he asked?"

Edward answered almost immediately. "Forgiveness. Redemption."

"Let me rephrase: what would _Sophie say_ God would deny Carlisle? We already know it's not either of those things."

"Human blood."

"And we know that's exactly what these rubies look like."

He shook his head. "But Carlisle never told her that…and even if he did, why was she angry enough about that fact to throw them in the bottom of a six-foot hole?"

Our mad speculation sounded good, but it didn't quite click for me yet. I shook my head at that coincidence and muttered, "She dug a grave for them. Kick ass, sister. Kick some seventeenth-century vampire ass."

_Whoa._

Carlisle had asked her never to _say_ what she knew, to lie even if someone clearly knew his secret. But telling the story, he never said the word "vampire" and he didn't mention her use of it. I wondered how she'd sounded when she said it. I had a hard time picturing her using the word; it didn't appear in her writing, obviously. Would it have been like when my mother told a story that required her to repeat a swear word? Did she whisper it or just mouth it?

I wondered if she said it at all.

Neither Edward nor I had any real answers but we were pretty sure they weren't going to be found on these steps. Edward put an arm around me and we kept walking, both of us lost in thought.

The wine cellar was an impressive place. In addition to more wine than a serious wino could ever put a dent in, there was a large safe, a small safe and an oversized wet bar.

Edward took the box of jewels out of his jacket pocket and put them in the wet bar sink. He rinsed them until the water ran clean from his fingers. Then he wiped the box with a wet towel, carefully removing the rest of the grime. My eyelids were far too heavy to help.

The water caught the light as it splashed. The jewels seemed lit from within. In my sleepy state, I was mesmerized by them, staring without purpose.

Edward was making a mess and I wanted to clean up the water on the floor just to be busy, but I knew he'd only shoo me away so I waited as he dabbed at the stone box and its lid.

He was cleaning the letters inside the lid when I noticed.

"Set the box against the wall."

His brows knitted together and then he smiled broadly. "Of course. And you said you hadn't earned your place here."

I rolled my eyes.

The wet box and the wet stone wall were the same color. They were the same material.

"What do you know about the walls? Do you think the stone is local?"

Still beaming at me proudly, he shook his head. "I don't know. If we could find a piece about this size, it wouldn't matter." He held the box up to demonstrate.

"A human girl didn't carve a box, fill it with jewels like that, and throw them in the bottom of a grave she dug."

"So who did?"

"I don't know. But we aren't leaving Allesworth until I do."

* * *

The cellar seemed a fine place to start—it was warm and protected from the elements. And, most importantly, this tired bag of bones was already located there.

Stone by stone, we inspected every exposed inch of the cellar and found nothing. I knew we needed to go outside next but I was too tired and couldn't see in the dark. I also knew Edward would stretch out across my bed and hold me until I awoke so nothing would get accomplished for those hours.

So I pressed on, working my way up the stairs.

I noticed the hole and kept on. I was so tired, I almost missed it. "It's right here. See how all the other vent spaces are rectangular? Look at this one." I pointed at the dirty corner where the wall met the stair. Edward brought the box and it fit in the extra space with about an inch to spare on every side.

He narrowed his eyes at me. "Let's make a deal. I'll take these stones out now and check behind them but if there's nothing inside, we'll go to bed?"

"I promise."

He wasn't saying it out loud but he didn't have to. This could all be nothing. It was her house. If Sophie wanted to have some mason cut out a piece of stone to make a box, she could do that. And it would make sense that she hadn't taken the piece from the front steps. By a vent space was the least noticeable place to cut it. The mason could've been the one who picked the spot, in fact.

So when Edward lifted the stone, I was perfectly prepared for him to find nothing. I was ecstatic when he pulled out a piece of paper.

"You're still going to bed, Isabella Swan."

"You said, 'if there's nothing inside.' That's _not_ nothing."

He seemed to be blocking my view of the hole on purpose so I peeked around him. The two-foot-square hole was full of paper.

"I'll never get to sleep."

"We will be very busy for the next week or so; not sleeping is a bad habit to begin so soon." He held up the decaying paper. "I can read you a bedtime story."

"I think that's a poem."

"Even better, love. What's more romantic than a bedtime poem that no one else has ever heard? Let me put you to sleep."

Those letters needed some care before I handled them and I was too impaired to be doing something so important. So I let Edward think the offer of a bedtime poem and his sweet turn-down service were what convinced me to follow him up the stairs. Sure, they influenced the decision….

A clock struck twice, startling me. Just as I began to trip, Edward scooped me up to carry me to bed.

* * *

_**AN: **_Help for this chapter came from a surprising source: my husband. No one loves a dirty pun more than him. No one loves his dirty puns more than me.

Clem, thank you so. I promise there will be more pants-shucking soon, if only to make you happy.

Danni, I'm always afraid I'm being too sappy until you tell me that I'm not nearly sappy enough.

I appreciate your comments so much. Posting an outtake with no means of receiving reviews was nerve-wracking and now my suspicions are confirmed. I _know_ I couldn't do this without you guys.

Thank you!


	19. Chapter Eighteen

_**Disclaimer:** The Twilight Saga and its characters belong to Stephenie Meyer_

_The rest is my own._

* * *

_"For what would you want that you couldn't possess?_

_For what could you ask that He wouldn't say Yes?"_

The last thing I remembered hearing before I drifted off was Edward's velvety reading of Sophie's words.

* * *

I awoke the next morning disoriented, the night before feeling like some nebulous half-memory of an occurrence ages ago. The note on the pillow beside me helped reestablish my bearings.

_Good morning, love._

_We should talk about your dreams when I return, maybe somewhere alone._

_In the meantime, I will run this errand as swiftly as possibly. Alice arrived at three-thirty and I left with Jasper not long after._

_Enjoy your day with her._

_Yours alone,_

_E_

My dreams were such prickly things. I couldn't tell them what to do but they sent me on tangents I enjoyed in the most deliciously inconvenient way. My skin warmed from my hairline to my neck as I worried over what I'd mumbled in Edward's presence.

I refolded the paper and wondered if one day someone would run across our little love notes and try to piece together what the hell had gone on between the two of us. The thought caused a vicious shiver to roll down my spine. No sense worrying over that yet. And Edward would certainly hide them, even long after I was gone, to keep our secret safe.

It was too early to think about the one thing that I knew would separate us. I inhaled deeply: breathing in the scent of someone's care for me and exhaling my worries.

The bergamot gently rising from the porcelain cup and saucer beside me was a message, part of the nonverbal language of the Cullens. I knew from Edward that any of them could tell if a human would soon wake because of our increased body temperature and heart rate. Alice could narrow it down to the exact moment without the help of either of those pieces of information.

But rather than hover, they gave me the privacy to do it at my own pace, leaving me an indicator that I could request their presence any time _I _wished. It had been a bit unnerving when I first slept over at their house. Now it was reassuring.

My first words of the day creaked from my throat. "You can come in, Alice."

She opened the door without her usual bounce. In fact, she looked rather sheepish.

I patted the mattress beside me. "Come here, I'm not mad. We'll figure out how to do this now."

She seemed uncertain, a feeling that must have surprised her as much as it did me. "I didn't know about Sophie and Carlisle. Or this house. Or…anything, really. I was just so pissed at Edward for running away from you when he was obviously in love with you that I couldn't leave him to his own devices and now I've drawn you into something dangerous.

"I really am sorry, Bella. I know that doesn't fix what I've broken but it is true."

"You already know you're forgiven, right?"

Her laugh was quiet. "It's never true until it happens, no matter how clear the vision."

She hugged me and we sat that way, our arms thrown around one another, for a while. With her mouth so close to my ear, she only had to whisper. "I've seen you as a permanent part of our family since that day Edward saved you from the van at Forks High. My vision has always been crystal clear but I've never let myself believe it until today. I know it's overwhelming to you, all this new information, but I've been waiting to have you with us for years."

She pulled back and looked at me. "We all have. I've talked about you so much that everyone thinks of you as part of our family already."

She embraced me again, as if she were making certain for herself that it was the real Bella, not soon-to-be-Bella. I was just as thrilled to have the real Alice; I needed her support.

"Alice, have you read all the letters from the Copelands' house in London?"

She grimaced. "I saw Edward reading them; it's just as good in the case of something already done like an old letter or photograph that someone will pick up later."

"The more I learn, the more convinced I am that we don't have a lot of time to get to the bottom of this mystery. It feels like I'm on a timer with someone feeding me clues when I don't get to the next point fast enough."

She nodded. "Once I saw that this house was for sale and decided that the list price was an attempt to attract my attention, I began watching the house and some people around it."

"And?"

She shrugged. "Nothing. It's like someone knows that I can see only future events and they're playing in my blind spots. I could have seen someone decide to do something with the house if I'd been watching but I didn't yet have a reason to keep tabs on this place back then.

"Whoever led us here knew to move forward once the house was on my radar. They knew to move on and not even look back."

"As soon as Edward and I walked down the stairs last night, I just had this feeling like I was supposed to be there, like someone had told me where to look. I know I've never read them but the words on that box were familiar.

"I was joking with Edward that we'd never find anything on the stairs, to keep walking and, as soon as the words left my mouth, I _knew_ that there would be something significant about those stairs. I agree with your feeling that we are being played with. And now I feel bad for having given Edward a hard time about being overprotective in London."

"Don't ever feel bad about giving Edward a hard time. Really."

She smirked and I let her ask the question that I'd known was coming since I texted her yesterday. "But the parts of your evening that didn't have anything to do with research…how did they go?"

"Swimmingly."

"It was all I could do to avert my eyes; I was _mostly_ successful."

"Thank you for picking up the board game for me. I couldn't have pushed him like that without an icebreaker. At least I don't think I could have."

"You seemed to be knocking the chill off the evening pretty damned well, as far as I could tell. I saw that strip tease before you two even attended your first seminar together."

"That explains the look on his face when I suggested we go out to the conservatory to play 'Risk.'"

She shook her head. "Now _that's_ something I wish I could've seen."

* * *

Alice left me to do my human stuff while she rounded up my breakfast. I rushed through my morning rituals, anxious to get downstairs.

Walking past the spare bedroom, I did a double-take, almost choking on my tea.

Plastic draping covered the entire room. All the windows had been blacked out and the only light came from lamps positioned incrementally on tables resembling the ones from my biology lab.

She'd already set it up as an antique documents lab. Half a days' labor was already done!

I grinned from ear to ear and followed the smells to Alice in the kitchen. "You do fine work, my friend. That spare bedroom is set up perfectly. Thanks for saving me all the trouble."

"No trouble at all. It gave me something to do besides listening to you mutter about Carlisle, Sophie and Edward all night. Not that you aren't entertaining…."

"Oh shit." I put my head in my hands. "Edward left a note and said we'd talk about my dreams. I wonder what else he's heard."

Realizing what I'd just said, I pursed my lips. "Sorry about my mouth. That caught me off guard."

Alice smiled sagely. "Wait until you hear Rose get pissed about something. She definitely puts her language skills to good use."

"Why does that not surprise me? She's…formidable, to say the least."  
"She can be intimidating but don't worry about it." Alice turned her attention back to what looked like French toast. "So, are you hungry yet?"

"How could I not be, after following that smell down here?"

* * *

As I ate, Alice told me about the events surrounding her purchase of Allesworth. She'd had no idea that Carlisle had spent time here or even how close he'd been to its inhabitants, once upon a time. Emmett and Rose had been here helping Alice clean it up for company, instead of at their own house. Their cottage had been pushed to the back burner until Alice made sure this one was up to her standards.

None of them had known the extent of Carlisle's involvement with the Copelands until Alice announced her acquisition of Allesworth to the Cullens.

To say that they were surprised was like saying Edward could outrun me in a footrace.

After seeing the furor her actions caused, she promised Edward and Carlisle that she would work with them. They, in turn, promised to let her in on all their secrets.

I gathered that it was a work in progress.

After breakfast, I washed up and headed for our new workspace.

Alice was already hard at work. "I gotta be honest with you, Bella. The idea of old libraries, having your honey read poems by the fire, it all _sounds_ very romantic. But I'm glad you and Edward can get into this and decipher Sophie's poems because I'm just not turned on anymore. Moths and weeds are decidedly unsexy."

After I wiped the tears of laughter away, I answered. "Moths are a little sexy…they only come out at night."

"Sexy events don't just happen at night, Bella Swan."

"No. I mean, yes, I know that…_that _sort of thing happens during the day. It's just that, in literature, nocturnal imagery can be sexual as well as foreboding or even menacing."

My face was on fire but I just couldn't shut up. "I didn't just mean…."

Alice giggled. "But your night must have been hot? Yes?"

Again? I sighed. "It was."

"You know I'm just going to keep bringing this up until you stop backing out and actually ask me, right?"

"I just don't want it to seem like I'm rushing. I'm not…I'm _so_ not. But he is genuinely afraid that he is going to kill me if he gets too carried away. Does that happen?"

"The truth is we don't know any vampire men who have had sex with a human. We know of some females who've had sex with human men."

"And?"

"Well, after a while they got the hang of it."

Edward would never attempt something he wasn't certain of. "He knows that already, doesn't he?"

"Yes." Her affirmative answer sounded noncommittal.

"But that means he does know it's possible."

She nodded. "I like your attitude."

How badly did I want to know my future? "I'm hoping you haven't but I'm hoping you have. Have you?"

"I have definitely not seen you getting it on with my brother. I feel dirty for even hoping that I might."

My face twisted in wry, guilty amusement. "Does that mean I shouldn't be so proud of myself for making you feel dirty?"

The answering smirk caused my stomach to lurch. What _had_ she seen? "Only if I should be proud of myself for having successfully hidden a vision of you and half-naked Jacob Black from Edward back in Washington."

Fantastic. "Yesterday, he actually wondered out loud when you'd become so talented at hiding visions from him."

"Yes, well, necessity is indeed the mother of invention. If he had seen a young werewolf getting so carried away with you, Edward would've started a war. It wouldn't have mattered that they all have wives and the diapered evidence of their sex lives running around, even if I can't see them actually doing the deed."

_Then how…._

"You two were on a security feed that a creepy night watchman saved. I stole the tape and destroyed it but I had to hide the whole thing from Edward."

"I'm so embarrassed. Was it at the UDub library? I knew we'd get busted."

"What's the deal with you and libraries?"

I squirmed and then I realized that I liked having a girlfriend to talk to again. I'd stopped sharing personal tidbits with Angela when Jake and I started our downward slide. Even not knowing the details back then, I knew I shouldn't talk about his bizarre behavior. But now I could and the weight of my secrets became lighter.

"I don't know, exactly. I do spend a lot of time in them and there's a certain way you're supposed to behave. Dress conservatively, use your inside voice, don't make a lot of noise. Library naughtiness flies in the face of all that, I guess. It's so taboo."

Alice looked as if she were deliberating. "There's definitely a library that deserves some attention in your future. Do you want to know stuff like that or do you prefer surprises?"

I swallowed nervously. "As a general rule, I don't know yet. I'll have to get back to you after I think about it. But in this case, do tell."

After she did, I had a hard time giving Sophie's poems and letters the attention they deserved.

Edward didn't help matters. Just before lunch, he began texting me.

**I'm almost out of the middle of nowhere. What are you up to, my beautiful girl? ****-E**

I responded with a picture: me, reading a letter, shot from above so that he could just barely see some of my dark red bra. I remembered it having an effect before.

**Vixen. ****-E**

_**Lucky you. **__**~B**_

**I won't be gone much longer, I promise. ****-E**

_**Take all the time you need. **__**~B**_

**I already have. I missed you before I even left. ****-E**

"When will Jake get here?"

Alice laughed.

"What? It's a legitimate question."

"You will have about an hour with Edward before Jake gets here. Make the most of it because I can't guarantee alone time with your man after that. I'm taking Jasper to a pond I spotted on the way here."

At that point it occurred to me that, while the rest of our high school class was deciding whether or not they wanted to start having sex, Alice and Jasper had been at it for decades.

Alice interrupted my thoughts. "Nope. Definitely not boring." And then she winked at me.

"That's going to take some getting used to."

"I can wait on you to ask from now on, if it's annoying. Edward was absolutely right: it _is _too easy to be ourselves around you. It's as if we aren't freaks at all, just grew up in a different culture."

"You're not freaks; you're my family. I won't let you talk about yourselves that way."

She hugged me again. "You don't know how much Edward needs someone to feel that way about him…about all of us."

"I can't feel any other way."

"Not to abandon the subject but I will have dinner ready for you and Jake around six. That should give him time to get ready."

"I haven't seen him dressed up in years. That will be fun."

"For the first time in a long time, I have to say that I can only _hope_ so."

"Before he left did Edward talk to you about checking Sophie's grave tonight? I would like to know what we're dealing with on that front before we continue reading these. It would make this easier if I could read with a few 'known variables' instead of having dozens of theories bouncing around that I will just have to put in the 'potential' file."

"Edward said almost the same thing. We were hoping to go late so that we don't attract too much attention. Do you need a nap? He felt really bad about keeping you up so late."

"How late will we leave?"

"After midnight….maybe two. Vampires poking around in a cemetery at midnight is _so_ clichéd."

"Waiting until two in the morning will definitely rid this outing of the 'cliché' label." I didn't want to be an even weaker link so I gave in to the suggestion of a siesta. "I'll try to catch a nap before Edward gets here."

Edward decided he would do me a favor and let me sleep until after Jake arrived. The creature he awoke bore no resemblance to the sweet girl he left behind.

I snorted my irritation again.

"So you went to sleep but you wanted me to wake you? Maybe you should text me or leave me a note next time."

"It's fine. Let's talk about something else."

"Certainly." He kissed my knuckles again, still playing with my fingers as he spoke. "Jake is downstairs, practically dancing at the prospect of doing some real detective work tonight. He thinks we are on the verge of something of extraordinary importance."

"I think we are."

"Since Carlisle received Sophie's note a few months ago, I have been operating under the assumption that this is a petty grudge. But no one has threatened us directly or made any demands. And, try as I might, I can't think of anyone who would have a reason to hate Carlisle. He just doesn't engender that kind of response.

"A few weeks ago I would've said that this is a personal vendetta, nothing more. But now I am afraid that it could be more."

"How?"

"I think finding Sophie's body and knowing what killed her will help me form a working theory. For the moment I am just shooting in the dark."

"Tell me more about things to do in the dark, Mr. Cullen."

He chuckled. "Whatever it is that I'm doing, turning the lights off doesn't change things. We might as well leave the lights on."

I leaned forward to kiss him chastely, mindful of the sensitive ears below us.

* * *

Jake was humming with energy when I found him half an hour later in the kitchen perusing last night's leftovers.

"Alice already has supper in the oven." I looked at the timer and narrowed my eyes at him. "That buzzer will go off in forty-five minutes. You better hide the evidence before she gets back."

"Easy, Bells. I will still eat anything Alice cooks for me. How are you? Your cheeks are all flushed." He smirked.

This arrangement sucked.

"I'm fine."

"It's still too early to tease. I get it. It's fine.

"So, are you excited to get started tonight?"

"I've had butterflies in my stomach since Alice mentioned it. Have you scouted things out?"

I felt Edward's hand on my shoulder.

Jake nodded a greeting before continuing. "Only the few things I could do as a tourist. The groundskeeper at the cemetery knew about two hundred years' worth of gossip. It was entertaining but not really useful. He did show me William and Sophie's graves. They are definitely off the beaten path and not easily visible from the road. The only thing that makes me nervous is the forest nearby. Anything could be hiding in there."

"I'm glad you restrained yourself."

I spoke up. "Out loud, boys."

"I wanted to dig it up myself, go ahead and get that chore out of the way, but being there without backup didn't seem like a good idea."

I breathed an audible sigh of relief. "I'm glad you didn't."

He continued his debriefing. "I did scout out the grave on the property here, though. It seems really promising."

Edward nodded in agreement. "William built it as a tribute after Sophie died, if I understand the inscription correctly. She had an orangerie built when she came back from Paris with Carlisle, modeled on the one at Versailles, and that stone building stood in what should have been the center of the connecting orchard. Now the hothouse and the trees are all gone but the little building is still standing."

"That's so tragic and sweet. When did you find that out?"

"I read the inscription yesterday as I was leaving. Then I remembered Carlisle telling me about the construction project underway when he left here. The structure looks almost like a tiny temple; it would be a perfect garden structure."

Jake spoke again. "I don't know how to explain it, but something about that building just set me off. Every nerve in my body seemed attuned to it, like the stones were breathing or some crap. I wanted to walk away but I couldn't, almost like I was on a leash."

He glared at me. "No leash jokes."

I tried to suppress a smile. "I wasn't even thinking one."

"When did that happen, Jake?"

"Two days ago, when I reconned for you guys. It was weird. And then I spent the entire time I was gone trying to not think about it but it wouldn't go away."

"Would you be interested in walking down there with us now? Maybe having someone in your head could be useful now. I'll text Jasper and tell him to meet us down there."

Jake chuckled. "Please tell him to wear pants. I am going to spend years getting that image out of my head."

Edward shuddered. "And now I will too."

"You should talk to him. Streaking is a criminal matter."

I couldn't help laughing. If I'd tried to suppress it, my head would've exploded. "Did you see Alice too?"

At the same time, they screeched, "No!"

It hadn't rained in two days so the ground was no longer sloshy. I was perfectly prepared for the trek, but Edward and Jake were in a hurry so instead, I was carried there in a matter of seconds.

Nauseated from the ride, I had to walk around with Edward's cool hands on my neck. I was grateful for the benches and sat down while they poked around the foundation.

Edward was watching Jake, who was obviously frustrated about something. "Tell me how being here makes you feel."

"I feel like I'm home. But something's missing. I feel like I would if I got to my house in La Push after being here for weeks and I couldn't find my Dad. I wouldn't panic yet because he could be somewhere like the store but that worry that he could be in danger would still be there anyway.

"That's not _exactly_ it but it's the best I can do."

"I think you nailed it, Jake. That is exactly what I hear. The interesting thing is that your thoughts seemed to have been filtered, the unimportant ones winnowed out. All the background noise thoughts—supper, itchy nose, is Bella alright, dessert—they are gone. The moment you arrived, they were pushed out. It's bizarre."

Listening to Edward and Jake circle the structure, all the while sorting out Jake's feelings was certainly bizarre. As far as the situation, it sounded a bit off as well. But everything about the monsters in my life was out of the ordinary so I wasn't in the habit of letting the extraordinary attract my attention.

"The back wall is too thick. Something's back here."

"It's not big enough for a person to fit…even a tiny one. You can't rip it open without asking Alice. She'd be even more annoying for the rest of eternity."

Jake laughed. "That's fine, I hear them anyway." He practically shouted, "And they have clothes on."

"You heard them before I did."

"Wolves rock like that. You'll get used to it."

Alice danced right up to Jake with a grin too big for her pixie features. "Next time, we're going to charge for the show."

Jake made a gagging noise. "Next time, you better run a public service announcement about mating season for the wildlife."

He rolled his eyes at her laugh. It was meant to be evil but it sounded like a five-year-old chasing bubbles, making it more disturbing.

Jasper remembered his manners first. "Good evenin', Miss Bella. How was your nap?"

I pretended to pout. "Too long."

"I would have woken you had I known. I swear I would have."

Nothing was more pleasing to the Cullen family than Edward operating at a disadvantage. They didn't bother to hide their amusement.

"You understand that if Jasper weren't here, I'd have no idea you were joking, yes?"

"You'll start figuring it out soon, love." I took his hand in mine.

Jasper's eyes narrowed at Jake. I braced myself, silently cursing the need to flirt with my boyfriend around Jake. It was selfish.

Jasper said to me, "It's not what you think."

Edward abruptly turned his attention from me to Jake. "Did you go anywhere interesting while we've been here at Allesworth?"

Oblivious, he answered casually. "No. I took my copies of the letters from London and read them. I went shopping for souvenirs for my family. Nothing major."

"So you didn't meet a lady this weekend?" Jasper was still digging.

Jake chuckled. "I did…but she was a student on holiday. We had coffee and she was a very nice girl, I just…I don't know. It didn't click for me. What's up?"

"You are in love, my friend."

"I'm pretty sure I'd be aware if that were the case."

Alice and Jasper looked at Edward. At the same time, they said, "Not necessarily."

Jake maintained that there were no new ladies in his life and asked Alice if we could take a peek at the back wall of the little temple before dinner.

The boys were surgically careful about the first few stones. Once it became obvious that there were, as Jake suspected, two walls with a space in between, Alice moved me out of the way and debris went flying. Beneath the space the ground had fallen away enough to reveal a cramped underground room, approximately eight feet by ten feet.

There was graffiti all over the walls and a cot in the corner. A chest sat on the cot.

We'd uncovered what looked like the hideout of a seventeenth-century Unabomber. The boys, as boys will do, wanted to stay and dig around some more.

Alice was hearing none of it. "No. Supper is almost ready and we are going to get dressed and have grown-up conversations and swirl pretty drinks in martini glasses. I'll take Bella back now but I'd better see the three of you in just a few minutes."

After my first trip with Edward, I had the presence of mind to close my eyes on the way back to the house.

"Do you need help with supper?"

"Tomorrow night you can help; tonight I want to enjoy playing hostess. Do you know what you're wearing yet?"

"The red one you brought me. You?"

"Just a little black dress."

"Before I head upstairs, do you have a theory about why Sophie's letters are all here? Did William live here after she died? And, if he did, why would letters obviously intended for Carlisle be among them?"

"I think it's just like every other clue we've found. Someone wants us to know they are manipulating us; it's a clue in and of itself."

"Where did they get Carlisle's letters from?"

"Carlisle stashed his in Edinburgh more than two hundred years ago. He couldn't bear to destroy them but he didn't want them on his person. Since they weren't addressed 'Dear Carlisle,' there was no reason for anyone to ever attach them to him."

"So they were put in the wall no earlier than when?"

"We can ask Edward but I think around 1792."

"So, why now? What has changed in your family recently?"

Alice's eyes widened. "You."

Edward was by my side in a moment. "She _has_ been the target of someone's attention lately."

Jasper and Jake were only seconds behind.

Edward continued. "But the attention directed at Bella, however sinister it sounds on paper, has only resulted in things that benefit her. Her 'stalker' has made sure she was kept in the loop, even when we couldn't tell her everything yet.

"If they are a vampire, they would be in as much trouble with the Volturi as we would be."

Alice's face was all screwed up. "Nothing's going on in Volterra."

A moment of silent communication passed between Alice and Edward. I raised my eyebrow at him, hoping to silently communicate that I too wanted in on the secret.

Jake shook his head. "So we have an ally who doesn't want us to know that they're an ally? Make all the dog jokes you want; at least our loyalty is straightforward."

No one dared make a joke. All four heads simply nodded in agreement.

"Alice, I promise I will be dressed and ready for dinner the moment Bella is. I just need a minute to clear my head."

She smiled graciously. The Barefoot Contessa had nothing on our tiny hostess. "Take your time, Jake. I'm anxious for you to trying my cooking but I think I might be looking forward to seeing you all dressed up even more than that."

"Yeah. The closet full of clothes waiting on me clued me into that. Thanks, I think."

"You are too handsome to be running around in undergrad grungewear. That light gray suit…." She whistled her anticipation.

"Light gray it is. I'll be right back."

Alice turned her attention to me. "What cocktails do you guys drink?"

* * *

Over dinner, Jake informed us of his intention to track down the source of the unidentified smell. We all pretended to be surprised. What Alice and, by extension, Edward, had seen earlier was the four of us. At Allesworth. In two days.

That could only be possible if something happened to Jake. The future two days away meant Jake wasn't part of it; I was relieved that exclusion would be by choice.

At dinner we drank martinis—at least Jake did. I sipped mine and Alice carried around a cosmopolitan, with a twist of lemon rind and everything, like a prop all evening.

I'd realized that Jasper and I weren't what I would have called "close," mostly out of necessity. Edward had explained that being a "vegetarian" was hardest on Jasper because of his pre-Cullen lifestyle and neither of them wanted me in unnecessary danger. But Jake's wolf-scent was so unappetizing to them that it made it easier for Jasper to be around me.

With the full force of his charismatic personality backing up that face, Jasper was an epic lady-killer. The shift knocked me off my feet.

Alice had made us promise that we wouldn't open the letters until after dinner. Only being this hypnotized by the unfolding dynamic of our motley crew could have distracted me from the box we hauled up from beneath the garden temple and the grave we were going to desecrate.

I remembered the night I went with the Cullens to Bunhill Fields. Edward had seemed so set apart from the other four. But tonighthe wasn't the one I worried about.

Jake kept his jacket on only long enough to allow Alice to inspect him; he claimed that no creature as hot as he was should be required to wear one. He peeled it off, revealing his vest and rolled-up shirt sleeves. Alice and I approved.

At no point did he give me that same feeling Edward had, that even he and I had. He seemed as intrigued by the dynamic of our group as I was. I finally chalked it up to not having to be inside the heads of the male half of the lovebirds. Still, I did my damnedest to make sure that he never felt like an outsider looking in on our perfectly-paired-off bliss.

Around nine, Alice said that we'd all gone above and beyond in making her feel like the perfect lady of the house and we could pry the dirty box open, provided we changed first.

I was, of course, the last person back downstairs. They acted like we were about to walk to a pub or something equally mundane and waiting on me was no imposition.

Jake spread a tarp in the kitchen and Jasper deftly opened the clasp.

"This box has been used since sixteen-whatever, darlin'. It looks like it's been opened in this century, even, so just about anything could be waitin' on us inside. You sure you want it opened in your new house?"

Alice beamed, the full effect of her bravado aimed at her husband. "It'll be fine. You can open it."

A dozen leather-bound notebooks and a stack of yellowed paper were the first things I noticed. The rest of the odds and ends were not immediately recognizable; they left me with the impression that they'd been lifted from a child's toybox.

Jake spoke up. "There it is again…that weird feeling. I just feel like something awful will happen if I don't get to the bottom of this."

A smile played at Edward's lips. "As if eating and drinking don't mean anything unless you do?"

Jasper jumped right in. "But that, if you did 'get to the bottom of this,' you might spend your life as the happiest man on the face of the planet?"

Jake's features twisted in confusion. "Yeah. Kind of."

Jasper tried to prompt him again. "It's the mystery of the ages, son."

It took a full thirty second for the jokes to sink in. Jake was clearly hoping they were wrong. "I doubt it. We only imprint because it is good for us…helpful. Not to make our lives a living hell."

Jasper chuckled. Edward looked guilty.

I couldn't hold it in any longer. "Whoever is leading us around is obviously on our side. They could've taken me out dozens of times by now, I bet. Let's just see what she's left us and go from there, okay?"

Jasper couldn't help it. "We're merely assuming this is a 'she.'"

* * *

**Paris, 1688**

Between the werewolf possibly harboring thoughts of vengeance and the vampire definitely harboring thoughts of devouring my friend, the countryside seemed more dangerous than Paris. That I needed a change of scenery could not be overlooked. Revisiting daily the scenes of so many crimes against her was eating away at my ability to function normally, further putting us at risk.

The country manor was much less diverting than a bustling city and I desperately needed to keep Sophie occupied. Our prickly banter had settled into politesse and I knew she realized that I would be leaving.

The question, even in my own mind, was when.

She was easily persuaded to return to Paris; we were there within the week.

Keeping Sophie's mind off the inevitable was much simpler in town. I mapped out a weeks' worth of the most interesting exhibitions and acquired invitations to new salons. We agreed on our itinerary as we traveled.

Our first full day back, we toured the new palace gardens. Instead of the lush, lazy sanctuary of summer that it would become, the gardens and orangerie were a constant procession of worker drones. From the first overlook, the formally-laid out space resembled nothing so much as a bed of industrious ants, carrying giant parcels and scampering around one another.

"We'll have to come back when all their work is in bloom."

I wished that agreeing with her would make my words true. It didn't but I perjured myself, going along with her wishes despite knowing better. "We will."

She turned her attention to our guide. "An _acre_ of oranges? Surely they will plant something else?"

"Oh, of course, Mademoiselle! There will be herbs and roses and lemons. Louis is _so fond_ of lemons!"

* * *

From her spindly writing desk, she began preparations for her own orangerie at Allesworth, like a general preparing for war. By the next evening, her plans were drawn up and she had a list of exotic specimens she wished to acquire.

Letters flew back and forth between her and William about the proposed structure.

In the evenings, we went to exhibitions with outrageous creatures and incendiary experiments. She was no longer interested in the tame. In fact, over the next few weeks the time at which she'd let me escort her home grew later and later. As far as I could tell, she was barely sleeping at all, existing in a manic state of activity at all hours.

She filled pages and pages with her poems and essays and ideas for new experiments but kept them from me.

By the time the residents of Paris began preparations for Christmas, Sophie looked like a woman possessed. Her eyes were glassy and ringed in bruise-colored flesh. Her hands were constantly in motion, worrying a fold of her skirt or the arm of a chair. Her own thoughts seemed to cause unexpected shudders in an otherwise sedate room.

I hadn't yet departed and I felt like I haunted her.

It mattered not how busy we remained. I could make her neither contented nor exhausted enough to rest. I brought her every curiosity that I thought might interest her. I made sure she could attend any function that suited her mood. I tempted her with a small fortune's worth of books.

None of those things seemed to soothe her the way a few minutes of my own unguarded attention did. Weaning her from it was not working.

* * *

_**Author's Note:**_ Thank you for reading. Tell me what you think.

Danni, I am thrilled that you are back in business. Thank you for the eleventy-nine readings of this until we (you) liked it.

Clementine, thank you for tightening up my formatting. And by "tightening up my formatting," well, we don't need to air that in public. I don't think we can get away with SR & Jennde's wantonness.

I am about to go to a wedding but I hope to post one more time before I leave. If you don't hear from me for three weeks, I got sucked into last minute "stuff" but am happily drowning in favors and flowers and fittings.


	20. Chapter Nineteen

**_Disclaimer: The Twilight Saga and its characters belong to Stephenie Meyer._**

* * *

**Paris, 1688**

Extraction.

Only surgical precision would remove me from Sophie's life. Worse than that, this excision would not be painless. It would be excruciating and bloody and scarring. Her growing fascination with hourglasses only served to reinforce my impression that she tallied the minutes we were together and those we were apart for mathematical analysis. The trend was surely unmistakable.

Recognizing my drawing away from her for what it was, she was quantifying her suspicions.

She had a notebook that never left her side, a book I wanted to read, but I couldn't justify my curiosity. Every time I tried to convince myself that violating her privacy like that was entirely excusable—for the greater good, even—my mind replayed each intrusion on her independence I'd already allowed myself.

I finally drew a line.

I would leave her that sanctuary.

And since my slow drawing away only prolonged the agony of goodbye, I stopped the charade. If I could not convince a human I knew so well of my lies, who could I convince?

As quickly as it began, I ended the drawn-out farce of a farewell. My new plan was to act as if I were staying until the moment I left. Tapering off our friendship only maddened her, made her uncertain and nervous. If she were emotionally whole when I abandoned her, she could weather the storm more successfully.

My departure would be without ceremony. It would have to be business as usual until then.

Sophie's rooms at the house in Paris had been opulent before her arrival, draped with tapestries and silks, filled with ornamentation. On her arrival, she asked her aunt if they could be cleaned out so she could work there without fear of ruining something precious. Sneaking around in the echoing, empty spaces was much more difficult than if the drafty quarters were still hung with sound-dampening fabric.

Sneaking her in and out of the room was much more difficult than it had been at the country house. The street noise was the only thing that helped disguise our jaunts to anatomy lectures in the dead of night.

After one such outing, she was irritated with me. "Carlisle, I don't understand your aversion to my attendance. I know you don't object to my learning about light or chemistry or philosophy. Why would you not want me to learn about human anatomy? I _possess_ functioning anatomy, as I'm certain you've detected."

I rolled my eyes. "While I am aware of that fact, I am also not unaware of the impropriety of a man teaching a woman he is not attached to about how a body…functions. If I could find a more appropriate means for you to study, I would."

I was aware of how condescendingly paternal I sounded but I also knew that the Carlisle who followed her to France without permission would say precisely that. Our boundaries had crumbled since I'd kissed her and I tried on every occasion to undo the damage.

It was a constant battle. I would throw up some meager impediment to intimacy—to protect her, though she couldn't know it—and her easy banter would erode them away.

She eyed me severely. "I have no doubt. You looked as if you might pounce upon that poor man every time he shifted the drape."

"Even the dead deserve some dignity. That man had a family and a life only days ago. You would never unlace his breeches in a room full of strangers—"

It seemed I'd just said precisely what she'd hoped I would.

Sophie went for the kill. "Neither would I allow someone to sink a scalpel in his heart or take a chisel to his skull. But I had no quarrel with the man who'd done both to him prior to our arrival. It is not the same thing and you know it."

She'd successfully run my argument through. Rather than allow it to linger in its death-throes, I relented. "Fine. If we attend again, I will fold my hands and keep them away from the operating theater."

"Will you also refrain from covering my eyes with them?"

"That I will not promise. We are not attending _that_ sort of entertainment."

She pretended to be irritated by my concern over her innocence, unsuccessful in her attempt to stifle a laugh, but I knew her anxiety was melting away; I saw the evidence in its considerable porcelain-skinned, rosy-cheeked splendor before me. She was eating again. She slept through the night. Her handwriting was legible once more.

* * *

A letter arrived for me via footman, if one could even call him that, from Alistair. While recent events had taught me the wisdom of distrusting my surroundings, he seemed to think every situation was a trap and left almost no trace of his involvement after any encounter.

The young man waited for me to read the note and then we burned it. He scraped the ash and the few fragments that didn't burn into a bag, for Alistair to inspect, no doubt.

I shoved a coin in his hand and sent him on his way so I could rush to find Sophie. As I expected, she was in her makeshift work area. The smell of smoke and chemicals hung in the air.

I tapped on her window and waited for her to allow me entrance. The smells came billowing out anew when she opened the panes.

She was whispering furiously before the window even closed. "I didn't actually burn anything. You didn't have to rush in here; you should have just come to the main door."

What was she into up here? It smelled like sulfur or burned hair. And naphthalene?

"I'm not here to supervise your activities, though it appears I need to be. I have news from England. It won't be long until we can go home, assuming, of course, that you are somewhere close to ready."

"How long? What news?"

"King James attempted to flee London. It cannot be long until William of Orange takes the throne. Once he does, we can return at any point you wish."

"I miss Uncle William. How soon do you think this will be settled?"

"My source says not long after the New Year."

"Maybe we could go to Allesworth first? I would like to see how my project is progressing in all this cold, if it is at all."

While the crossing would be longer, I liked the idea of using a harbor outside London and I was certain Alistair would as well. "Of course."

"I need to make some purchases before we leave and I would like to visit Descartes' final resting place at _St.-Genevieve-du-Mont_. I've intended to pay my respects since we returned but we've been so busy that I've not taken the time. So much of what we've done in these salons and exhibitions has been a result of his courage and genius."

"Have you ever been?"

"No."

"Let's go tonight. You should go when there are no crowds around." I didn't intend to wait until the shopkeepers finished their holidays to leave. At least she wouldn't have this regret.

My guilt over this thing I was about to do, about leaving her, was so consuming that I would have turned the city of Paris into a burnt offering if I thought it could somehow appease her.

"You're under no obligation to me. There's no need to take me tonight, Carlisle. I can go tomorrow just like anyone else would."

"It's no inconvenience; it's not as if I'll even be sleeping tonight. Your time is considerably more precious than mine." And with that thought, her words in the library at William's London home came rushing back to me. _While no constraints may exist upon your time, mine is markedly more finite…._

Her eyes widened and her breathing became shallow though I pretended not to notice. She'd become so comfortable with me again that the memory of dismissing me all those weeks ago—a lifetime ago, for all practical purposes—evidently ambushed her thoughts as it had mine.

As if no ripple had disrupted the placid conversation, I continued. "When would you like to leave? If we wait an hour or so, the partiers will be even less aware of us."

"Can you come back in an hour, then?"

* * *

The streets were still full of wine-soaked celebration when I returned to her window. Instead of flitting along the Paris rooftops, we would have to remain on the ground…or in it. I'd run the route we would take to and from _St.-Genevieve-du-Mont_ to make sure it was free of impediments. Alone, it took less than a quarter of an hour.

The idea of using the sewers of Paris to hide my speed and as a means of bypassing anyone who might recognize her was not immediately attractive to Sophie. Once I recounted their storied past, true or not, she seemed more interested.

Sophie and I spent two hours in the lovely cathedral. Because of the holiday, there were a surprising number of people milling around, lighting candles, saying prayers, remembering. Sophie seemed content to be paying her respects in an occupied building rather than alone. Once she'd spent enough time with René, we toured the structure on our own before heading back below ground.

We hadn't gone more than twenty paces when I realized I'd made a lethal mistake.

I could hear the catlike footsteps of a pair of vampires. A side tunnel emptied into the one we were traveling and I could smell them when we passed it, two smells I knew. Two vampires I'd known I would see again. I wasn't quite familiar enough with these tunnels to immediately think of an escape route but I kept my eyes open for one.

Tristan and Etienne were down here with us. They probably knew these tunnels better than the streets above, using them when the sun prevented them from walking the streets.

This could be an ambush or it could simply be curiosity, I reminded myself. I had no intention of finding out which one unless such a situation proved unavoidable. With Sophie draped unevenly across my back, we were slow. The footsteps behind us were gaining but not quickly. Their approach didn't seem the least bit aggressive, only constant.

In addition to the pair threatening to overtake us, someone was suddenly coming at us head-on. Someone not bothering to pace themselves.

At their current rate, Tristan and Etienne would cross our path one tunnel before I'd planned on exiting. They should meet us before the stranger. That math wasn't too difficult; I took the next right and scrambled to the surface a few streets north of Sophie's family's home.

Our tail didn't even pause where we'd turned right and I could hear the collision beneath us.

Were Tristan and Etienne _protecting_ us?

Rather than stand around listening to the carnage, I took Sophie to the relative safety of a rooftop.

As far as I could tell, she had no idea that her life had ever been in danger. I wanted to tell her. I wanted her to know that she would never be safe as long as she was around my world. But that wouldn't make her go away, I knew it wouldn't.

I took a page from her instruction book. If I were going to leave, the incision would have to be a clean one. And I would have to cauterize it with something painfully hot.

On the way back to Sophie's, Alistair found us on the street. He pretended to be surprised for Sophie's benefit but he and I knew better. I wondered what could have tempted him into the open like this.

Unable to think of a way to avoid bringing more monsters into her life, I made a proper introduction. I was also certain to mention that one of Alistair's boats had been responsible for bringing letters back and forth from London so quickly and hunting down her prized plants for the proposed orangerie at Allesworth. That he'd transported the glass was reason alone for her to adore him.

"My friend, I am headed back to England in two days. Should I make room for three more?"

I looked at Sophie. "Whenever you're ready, we should be able to go home safely. Alistair would not offer if it were not." She seemed surprised at the suddenness but was obviously homesick enough to overlook the inconvenience.

Something streaked across her countenance, an expression of appraisal that made me nervous and then disappeared without a trace.

She smiled brilliantly at Alistair. "It is so kind of you to think of us. And so selfless. Why don't you join us for a glass of wine and we can discuss the particulars."

Sophie smelled a rat, and not one from the sewers below us.

I had no idea what to say. It was one thing for her to be acquainted with the idea that I was a vampire. It was wholly another to introduce her to more of them as if this were her first Season and they were appropriate suitors. We knew that we needed to decline her invitation but we also knew that to do so would all but beg for more questions from her. Alistair and I had different reasons for wanting to avoid giving her answers but it didn't negate the necessity of avoiding them.

He couldn't find out that she knew about me. If anyone would be able to ferret that particular secret out, it would be him.

If anyone would put together that Alistair and I had more in common than skin tone (or a lack thereof), it would be Sophie.

Alistair smiled warmly and brought Sophie's gloved hand into his own. "I would like nothing more. Deckhands and sailors cannot compare to the company of a lady."

We began walking again and Sophie asked Alistair half a dozen questions about transporting citrus and pineapples and exotic birds in quick succession. His answers were flawless. It seemed as if he were really acquiring the things she asked for and not simply taking them from other ships.

The thought of Alistair going from port to port, looking for suppliers of each of the things she'd requested, was laughable. He hated dealing with humans like a cat hates water.

"Your lemon trees are from the Mediterranean but I have to make a trip to Asia soon and can bring back some fruit from there as well. Oranges from the Middle East, maybe a flowering vine or two as well? Is there anything in particular you're interested in growing?"

Her eyes lit up. "You would know better than I what to bring back. Remember that I'm a novice so don't sacrifice too many beautiful things on the altar of my inexperience."

Alistair nodded his understanding. "I will keep that in mind and ask before I bring something back that might be more than you could care for. I appreciate you giving me a reason to spend more time with the locals."

I choked back a laugh.

"I suspect you mean the more ladylike locals."

They bantered all the way to the coffeehouse. Just before we entered, a young man approached us.

"Mister Tennyson? We got a problem down at the shipyard an' Mister Holley sent me to find ye. He said not to come back unless I did."

"Of course, son. Carlisle, Mademoiselle, it has been a pleasure. Send word of your plans and we will take care of you. Mademoiselle, I look forward to your company again. I have been thoroughly charmed." The old charlatan brought her fingers to his mouth and it made me so nervous I almost stopped him.

He disappeared quickly into the darkness, the young man struggling to keep up with him.

"He seems very worldly to be a merchant."

"Alistair never stays in one place long enough to be defined by any label, at least not as long as I've known him. He is, however, a man who can make things happen."

"You two look as if you could be brothers, if such a thing were possible."

_Please, Sophie. Don't go down this road._

"I don't think we look alike."

"He's as pale as you—not many men who live on the high seas are—and his eyes are almost the same honey color as yours. They are a bit darker, though that could just be the darkness." She winked and continued, "And he's _almost_ as handsome as you. He might have been handsomer, in fact, were it not for the fact that he seemed so unaccustomed to smiling. It seemed painful."

She was teasing me but using it as a means of baiting me into talking more about Alistair. She suspected he was like me and I had no intention of confirming her suspicions. "Being on a ship suits him. He is not usually fond of company. In fact, I was surprised at how quickly he agreed to spending time with us."

"Maybe he just needs some practice smiling."

"I cannot disagree with that."

* * *

Sophie consented to leaving for England in two days. That would put us in Allesworth by New Years' Day, if the weather held.

Sophie's chaperone was a widow of about forty years. Since their arrival nearly three months ago, she had begun spending a great deal of time with a Parisian gentleman who was anxious that she not leave quite yet. So, after a great deal of tears as she packed—and even more crying as we unpacked her considerable luggage from Alistair's ship—she decided that she could not leave France just yet.

That such a display of emotion would slow Sophie down once she made up her mind was not even a question. She hugged her friend tightly, called a coach for her and boarded Alistair's vessel not five minutes later.

"Hurry up. My family will be here the moment they find out. I can't believe I convinced Cassandra to leave without me."

Unwillingly, Alistair laughed at her. He hadn't wanted to like her but he seemed just as charmed as any human man.

Sophie was about to cross the channel under the power of two vampires and a thirteen-year-old boy who could pick a naked man's pocket. Because I'd kept that fact from her, the situation simply served to make her very happy.

The fact that I couldn't be peeled from her side once we boarded the vessel pleased her immensely.

Our crossing wouldn't be as short as going from Paris to London but it would decrease our odds of being discovered by another vampire. I couldn't allow a repeat of what happened in the sewers with Tristan. My overactive imagination wouldn't stop showing me differing versions of the myriad ways that jaunt could've been disastrous.

Who was I kidding? There was no "could've been." It had been a disaster. Unequivocally.

They might not have laid eyes on me running with Sophie but they had to have known we were together, traversing the sewers of Paris at an inhuman speed. I certainly couldn't return to Paris any time soon, especially not if Sophie were with me. It attracted too much attention to her. I was still baffled as to why Tristan saw fit to save us from someone. I'd only ever seen vampires fight over food or to avenge a mate. Where Sophie and I fell in that scenario was a frightening thought.

Neither of us was someone's mate, nor had I harmed anyone's mate, and I couldn't serve as a meal for either vampire.

Alistair blamed the weather for our late start. He had no intention of allowing sunlight to hit him and put his new assistant at risk. The child was a prodigy, as far as he was concerned. Alistair had made no bones about the fact that he'd have to move on if the boy suspected something was amiss or kill him if he discovered our secret.

I understood the implied message about my own human ward.

The excitement of our boat trip and the constant motion of the rollicking seas made sleeping impossible for Sophie. The cramped rooms below deck were dank and airless so we left them not long after we lost sight of land. Despite the poor conditions and obvious lack of a proper chaperone, Sophie was in high spirits.

Alistair noticed her missing nervousness almost immediately and called me over to him..

"Women don't like the sea, Carlisle. They like sailors only slightly less. Why isn't this child a ball of nerves like the rest of them? It's like she knows nothing can happen to her. It makes me nervous. What does she know?"

He narrowed his newly-golden eyes at me.

"She knows nothing. You don't remember what a father-figure was like, do you Alistair?" I gauged his reaction and decided that my bluff might be hitting home. "William and I are all she has. If something happens to her on this crossing, she'll be with her family in heaven. If not, she'll be home soon. And I saved her from a wolf when she was hiking once so she might have some hero-worship…but whatever the case, she is probably very happy to be out of exile."

"I hope that's all it is."

"I'm certain it is."

He kept his eyes on the water as he said, too-casually, "She'd make a credible immortal, you know. She has all the charm and intelligence of Anne Boleyn without the ambition. I think she might have some talents that could prove useful if she were turned."

"I'm not interested in taking her away from this life or the next prematurely. She is all William Copeland has left on this earth and I am determined to see to it that the situation remains so as long as humanly possible."

"Bad things happen to people, friend. When you leave her, what's to say that the plague won't claim her the next day? Or what can you do when you're gone about that vampire, Tristan, who's been trailing you since you returned to Paris? You can't be her guardian without endangering her and you can't leave her without wondering if you have.

"So what will it be?"

What would it be, indeed? I'd been asking myself that same question, in one form or another, since our trip to the caves ended so disastrously. It seemed that no amount of good deeds or good intentions could unmake my monstrosity.

"I will see her back to Allesworth safely and then disappear. What else can I do?"

Hearing myself say the words aloud felt like such a defeat.

Alistair seemed strangely moved by the situation. Was it my sadness? It seemed so unlike him.

"I will watch for a few weeks after you leave. Show your face in Paris. Go play with Tristan and his hoodlums. We can concoct some story about business associates and your human façade making the friendship necessary. He has to believe she doesn't mean anything to you or he will continue to stalk her.

"He would have no reservations about turning her or draining her.

"When you are certain he believes your disinterest, move on."

Since we'd boarded the boat Alistair hadn't looked at her as if she were a meal. In fact, I hadn't recalled him ever doing so. He seemed intrigued by her and had spoken openly about how delicious she smelled but I'd never even seen his eyes darken with thirst in her presence.

"Why are you eating animals now, Alistair?"

My out-of-the-blue question garnered a dry chuckle. "I'm an old man; it's something new. And it makes dealing with humans easier. Not only do my eyes look less out of place but I don't crave them like I do when they're my main source of supper. I'll be back to drinking unfortunates again soon so don't get your hopes up."

"If it saves a few lives, I am happy. Which is why I like your plan. I will help her get settled in at Allesworth and then leave. There is a forest beyond the grounds and I will wait for you there."

* * *

Sophie watched the sunrise from the bow of the ship. Unwilling to risk a scene, I waited below. The thick cloud cover should have been more than enough to convince me to spend the morning with her but Alistair's paranoia had rubbed off on me. I'd been careless enough.

In an ironic turn of events, she seemed to feel protective of me under this particular set of circumstances, as if Alistair and his pet might sniff us out. She played dumb at every possible opportunity.

It was as if she knew that Alistair was watching us.

Even though I was scared below-decks by the golden light behind the clouds, Alistair was surprisingly cavalier about manning the helm. He made no attempt to stay out of Sophie's line of sight, even engaging her in conversation about her project at Allesworth.

I listened to them above me, wondering what he was doing.

"Are you interested in keeping any animals in your conservatory, Miss Copeland?"

"It seems so cruel to isolate them like that and I would be a poor caretaker for animals I know little about. I was, however, considering some insects: moths, butterflies, bees. Do you think that would be too much?"

"I doubt there are many things that would prove to be 'too much' for you. Keep me informed of your progress. There's a shopkeeper in London Carlisle uses to contact me. I'll let him know that you might have requests as well."

"I appreciate that, Mister Tennyson." I heard her pause and sigh. "The sunlight behind those clouds is beautiful. Those colors look impossible!"

Too late, I realized his intention. Would calling her be too obvious? Would it even give her enough time to get off the deck?

I climbed the few stairs to the heavy wooden door, cracking it just in time to see the clouds part before the sun like the curtains opening on some theatrical spectacle in Paris.

"Sophie."

I said her name as the first shimmer danced along Alistair's forearm. Quickly, he shoved the sleeve back down.

She turned her head to me and I didn't know if she'd seen or not. "Carlisle. I thought you might be sleeping."

Closing the sketchbook, she walked towards me and I pulled her into the cabin. She stood there, her face absent of any expression, for ten long seconds. I counted.

When she made eye contact with me, she looked as if she might cry. I held her tightly, my intimacy embargo forcibly lifted, and put my finger over her lips as I had on the balcony not long ago. She nodded.

Needing to fake some conversation, I asked what I'd missed during my nap.

* * *

High seas kept us from docking until late that night. Twenty-seven hours after we embarked, Sophie and I crossed the threshold at Allesworth. She'd only slept in fits and starts on the boat and was entirely exhausted when we arrived.

To my utter shock, she'd sent the servants away.

"I didn't know when I'd arrive. I told them to get the house ready and go back home. I can send for them when I'm ready and I just don't want to deal with them right now. I want to sleep."

"I will unpack, then. Don't worry about all of this." I indicated the trunks and bags littering the entrance.

Sophie's orangerie stood behind the house. The structure itself was complete. The cathedral ceilings were twelve feet tall, rising to almost twenty-five feet in the center. The panes of glass were framed by dark metal. On the end opposite the entrance was a small round pond with a fountain. The two marble angels endlessly poured water in to the small fishpond. Alistair had delivered a dozen trees before he came back to Paris for us and they were neatly paired with their mates throughout, still covered in fabric.

There was a fireplace and chimney on one wall, flanked by shelves and a stone countertop.

Immediately, I set about taking the fabric from the trees and cleaning the construction debris.

By noon I'd hunted and run out of menial tasks to perform so I was thankful when I heard Sophie stirring above. She would be ravenously hungry, I guessed, and breakfast would be in order.

I was poking about in the kitchen when I heard her usually-sweet voice booming from the stairs. "Carlisle Cullen, I wouldn't eat anything you cooked so don't go making a mess in there!"

Apparently, a hunk of cheese, coffee and pie were appropriate fare. I watched with disbelief as she devoured it.

The servants arrived not long after and were left with the impression that my servants had done all the unpacking, a notion we allowed them to continue to believe.

At sundown that evening, we walked outside to Sophie's gleaming new structure.

"I just knew that I wouldn't even have a foundation ready by the time we returned. Your friend certainly knows how to get a task taken care of, doesn't he?" Her understanding of what had occurred was evident. She knew Alistair had built this himself.

"That he does."

"He is responsible for this?"

I nodded, pretending that she needed confirmation. "I think so. Is it not what you'd wanted?"

She kept pressing for details. "Carlisle, it's built exactly as the picture in my mind but I didn't imagine I'd see it finished until long after spring came. I was even wondering what to do with the lemon trees he brought me until then. I had no idea that he was…that he was so well-connected."

She looked at me meaningfully. Without a doubt, she knew.

Sophie had seen Alistair's arm. She never said so but I knew she had, I had known from the moment I called her away from the sunlit deck.

Here we were alone in the glass structure born of her imagination. Alistair had brought to my attention how interesting my relationship with Sophie would be to an immortal, and he was right. We were an object to be examined, as much as any other creature under glass, a consequence of my conduct.

Our symbiosis was fascinating, I had to admit. I couldn't explain what it was about this girl that was so different from other humans but, however much it defied explanation, it was undeniable. So one last time, I put my hands on her, as if I were feeling around for an explanation.

I ran the backs of my fingertips down her arms from the shoulder to the elbow. What they discovered, and what they didn't quite touch, only served to make me push forward.

My gloves were a farce and an impediment so they went first. I peeled them off and let them drop to the ground. I took her hand in mine and loosened the supple leather from each finger and unfastened the buttons on her cuff. I rested the hand on my shoulder and repeated the action on the other.

I felt her breaths coming more quickly. I could feel each humid rush of air as it left her expectant, parted lips.

Venom poured into my mouth and I swallowed it back, fighting a grimace. My teeth ached to bury themselves in her flesh. I ground them together before bringing her still-gloved fingers to my mouth.

I bit down on the empty tip of the middle finger and worked the leather away from her hand before I let it fall from my mouth. She held the other hand up, touching her fingers to my lips. Using the empty finger I held between my front teeth, I removed the second glove and let it drop beside its mate.

I'd led Sophie so many directions that she clearly had no inkling about what to expect from me. Even not knowing, her flesh betrayed what she wanted to occur, ripening and blushing under my hands. Turning her hand up, I lowered my face to her wrist and breathed in.

That scent would haunt me, a specter of my darkest moments, as long as I walked the earth. And long after she was gone, I would still have her perfume in my perfect memory to keep me penitent.

I pulled her against me, one hand around her waist, and reveled in the heated haze of scent. I wanted to kiss her again. But to take that first step would be my undoing.

"You've already departed, Carlisle. There can be no return to innocence once we walk this path and I don't think it's how you want to remember our last."

It wasn't; she was entirely correct.

But I wasn't certain if I wanted untainted memories as badly as I wanted to commit the sin of tainting them. I fell on my knees before her and I could feel the divots I left in the stone floor. I laid my cheek against her belly, crushing myself into her skirts.

I looked up at her. "It isn't. But I…."

Her reply sounded lukewarm; she knew I wouldn't consider it but she felt obliged to say the words, lowering them down to me like a rope to safety. "Then don't leave. What will I do without you?"

"You will thrive without me to hold you back. I will be the one with nowhere to go and nothing to do. I am about to have to make a place for myself in the world, to carve out a niche for a creature who doesn't belong. You have a place."

We grew silent at the mention of my other-ness. I was so used to paranoia that it was my habit now. I couldn't even speak openly of my life to Sophie without endangering her. It certainly didn't need to occur anywhere near her.

I picked up her gloves and led her back to the house.

* * *

The house was still absent of servants but she'd allowed her dinner to be dropped off in a basket. After dinner, we retired to the library and I read to her. She fought sleep, realizing something was amiss, but I kept her wineglass full and read on.

She fell asleep in the armchair before midnight. When her breathing evened and I felt she would continue to sleep, I closed the book in my hand, recited Shakespeare's Eighty-Seventh sonnet and crept away into the night.

I should have stayed with her one more hour. Twelve strikes of that meddling clock proved too many for her to sleep through. It wasn't even right anymore; it had lost seven minutes since we left Paris.

As I reached the trees just beyond her home, I heard the ticking stop and held my breath through the twelve strikes marking the hour. At the third strike, she said my name. When I didn't answer by the seventh strike, I heard her feet hit the floor.

I had a moment of panic. This wasn't how I wanted to leave. I wanted her to sleep through the night, wake up and realize that her life was complete without the monster. But now she was upset and disoriented, fumbling towards me in the darkness. I could hear her tripping down the stairs and heading for the door.

She threw the door open, not bothering to close it behind her, and ran towards the orangerie. Not finding me there, she moved on to the yard. She only took a few more steps before she sank to her knees in defeat.

Twenty yards away, hidden by the trees and the night, I mirrored her action. I wished I could hide in her skirts again.

She spoke my name, "Carlisle. Don't go. You can't go. Who will take care of me? William and I did tolerably well before you came but it will never be the same again. Don't leave us…don't leave me."

She had on my overcoat and a pair of my oversized boots, I noticed. She'd planned on traipsing through the woods in search of me if she had to.

Her voice dropped to a whisper. "I understand if you don't…_want_ me like I want you. I won't press the issue. You are a man of free will now. You can choose. I know that.

"But you weren't living before you came to us; you were hiding, ashamed. How long will you lurk in the shadows like your friend, Alistair? He is afraid of life and isolates himself on the seas. Will you do that to yourself? Will you hide your talents in the ground? You'll never get back to heaven that way, you know.

"If you can't use what you've been given for the greater good, you will be as sad as someone who uses their power for evil.

"Stay with us, even if it's just for selfish reasons."

"Please, Carlisle."

For a moment, I considered it. But in a few years, I would have to leave, my lack of years evident on my unmarked face. What then? Leaving now was a better option. She shouldn't have to exist in the shadow of a monster.

Her pleas continued. "Carlisle. Don't go."

She began to sob, each one like the lash of a bullwhip across my back.

* * *

Just before dawn, moments before I had decided I would surrender long enough to take her inside, a servant couple arrived to drop her breakfast in the kitchen and noticed the open front door. They found her in a shivering heap and carried her to her room.

The older woman stayed while her husband found someone to send a letter to William.

Sophie crept outside the next night as well. I listened to her until dawn again, unable to move until I knew she was safely back in the house.

At twilight the next day, Alistair arrived.

"Does she know you are here, my friend?"

"I think she does. She knows that I would do anything to save her, she must know that I haven't gone far."

"I will watch over her, Carlisle. I'll keep her safe until the danger from Tristan's interest dies down but then she is on her own, like any other human. Does that sound fair?"

"It does. I could ask for nothing more."

"I have one condition."

"Of course. I am surprised there is only one."

"Don't look back. Don't try to find out what she is doing or where she goes. You know her well enough to know the circles she is most likely to run. Avoid them—for her safety and yours. From now on, she was an acquaintance, a passing fancy of which you are now tired."

"I will."

We shook hands and I departed, for where I did not know.

* * *

**Kent, 2009**

Alice narrowed her eyes and pointed a finger at her husband. "Jake can imprint on who ever he wants."

"I'm not disagreeing with that. I'm just saying that his 'eternal love' might not be a lady. Not that there's anything wrong with that."

Jake spoke up. "I can't continue my bloodline if I imprint on a dude so it's highly unlikely, Seinfeld."

Alice pouted and Edward chuckled.

I really wanted to rifle through the contents of that box but we needed to know if Sophie was in that grave before we continued. It was looking more and more like she wasn't.

It was out of my mouth before I could help myself. "Is Jake imprinting on Sophie?"

Jake shrugged. "Not if she's dead."

Stealth was the order of the evening, so my protest to being carried to the cemetery was nominal. The graves there were surprisingly plain though the headstones were larger than most, coming up to my hip.

_Sophia Claire Copeland_

_1670-1691_

_A Light in a Dark Place_

_William Edward Copeland_

_1648-1723_

William's headstone had no inscription. We stood for a moment, considering our next moves. I wondered what the others were thinking about.

Alice took Jasper's hand in hers. Jake crouched before Sophie's headstone and bowed his head. Edward's arms encircled me from behind.

These three didn't know if they would ever rest in peace. I knew that Edward didn't think they would. I wondered if that was what they were thinking about.

In my own mind, I erased myself from the scene. My four friends would one day stand over my own final resting place. What then? Vampires didn't move on to another love when their mates died. In fact, they seemed to find a way to die, according to Alice. Even in death, they were tragically beautiful, each couple simply a variation on a theme.

I didn't know how but I would find a way to keep that from happening in just a few short decades. I would be like them, somehow.

Jasper smiled at me. "Edward's got his hands full, I do believe. Good luck with that, brother."

I felt cold hands begin to turn me around. "You and I will talk later. About your dreams and now this."

"What?"

Jake said to Edward, "She's more trouble than a classroom full of preschoolers. She requires constant supervision."

Irritated, I prodded. "Enough chatter. Are we cracking this baby open or what?"

Alice and I backed up a few paces as they began digging.

"I will always take one of you out of the action, huh?"

"No one minds, Bella."

"You're all nice about it but I hate to be the weak link."

"Edward is right. You have to stop thinking that way. You have everything we want in that delicate body. We all want to walk slowly and dream and watch our families grow and change. You mean more to us than just being Edward's mate. Let us guard someone's mortality since we don't have our own."

I remembered Rose, stretched across that grave in Bunhill, her name over her head. "Was that Rose's human family that she visited at the cemetery in London?"

"No. She always visits the grave of any 'Rose Hale' when we travel to a new place. She started when we were passing through her old hometown and she saw her own headstone. Her family never got the closure of a body under it. She was sad that it was by itself, no one resting eternally alongside, and so she visits others that do and pretends they are hers."

"Doesn't that bother Emmett?"

"He wanted a life and a family too. They pretend together, making up their 'life story.'"

"They would've made beautiful babies, that's for sure."

"Not as pretty as Jasper and me."

"Of course not."

"They've found something."

We walked to the edge of the two holes, peering over the headstone at William's casket. Without ceremony, Jake opened it.

Jasper was ready to move. "I think that's our William, boys. Do you want to take anything to examine or can we close it up?"

Edward looked the grave over. The clothes and flesh had long rotted away, revealing age-blackened bones. Edward gathered what looked like some buttons and a ring before consenting to closing it up.

Jake had, in the meantime, uncovered Sophie's coffin.

He looked at me. "You ready to do this, Bells?"

"Absolutely. Let's see what's in there."

Jake pried the lid off. Sophie's coffin was, as we'd all come to expect at this point, empty.

I was disappointed though I couldn't immediately put my finger on why. This meant that Sophie might still be around. I should have been excited at the prospect of meeting her, of having another ally.

But I wasn't.

Because if she were a vampire, she hadn't chosen to live as the Cullens had or they would know her. Jake said he'd never met another golden-eyed coven. I was disappointed at the idea that she'd fed from humans for more than three-hundred years. How many lives had she claimed, this woman I'd come to be so fond of?

Jasper tried to console me. "We don't know anything about where Sophie is yet, Bella. All we know is that she's not here."

"You're right. I shouldn't be so worked up." I appreciated his sympathy but I hated that my emotions were so transparent.

In a split second, quite a few things went down at once. It seemed that they happened at the same time, all piled on top of one another, but that wasn't quite the case.

The wind picked up; I felt the cold whip suddenly across my face. Alice spun away so that she and Edward formed a human cage around me, facing out to fight off…something.

I heard the growls from each vampire, confirming my suspicions.

Finally, I turned my attention to Jake. Where he'd crouched beside Sophie's grave stood a massive brown wolf.

Edward whispered, "Go, Jake. She's alone so we'll be fine."

As suddenly as it began, the danger seemed to have passed and the three that remained with me relaxed.

Edward said to Jasper, "Looks like Jake's girlfriend plans on playing hard-to-get."

I was ecstatic that something had broken. "Was it Sophie?"

Edward answered, "No. It wasn't even a vampire…I'm not sure what she was. But she was trying to get Jake out of here. She thinks you're not safe either and hopes I'll take you somewhere for a few days."

Alice seemed irritated. "She does something to my visions. I could feel her getting closer as if she emitted a force, like trying to push two magnets together."

Jasper looked irritated as well. "I didn't notice anything like that, baby. All that stood out was how frantic she seemed, as if she had too much to do and not enough time to get it all done."

Edward agreed with Jasper. "She knew to be careful with her thoughts but she was agitated and hurried. She thinks we can help her somehow."

I asked Edward, "Did she think about Sophie?"

"No. But she did see Alistair, Carlisle's friend, briefly and it made her feel better. She cares about him."

Alice wrinkled her nose. "Creepilicious Alistair made her feel _better_? Edward, he is _not_ warm and fuzzy to hear Carlisle or anyone else talk about him. He hasn't even contacted Carlisle in more than a century…since before you were around."

The notch of worry reappeared between Edward's eyebrows. "It seems that we need to find Alistair."

* * *

_**Author's Note:**_ I am back in one piece. Thanks for all the well-wishes, the wedding was beautiful.

As always, I'm dying to know what you think.

Please tell me that you've read the Age of Edward contest entries! My darling Clementine's Red Knight is among them. Her Red Baronward will knock your socks off.


	21. Chapter Twenty

_**Disclaimer: The Twilight Saga and its characters belong to Stephenie Meyer.**_

* * *

The events of the last thirty seconds were obviously important and I caught the gist of them. The highlights, however, weren't going to suffice. "I'm going to get the slo-mo breakdown of what just happened, right?"

Edward wrapped me up in a tight embrace and pressed a kiss into the crown of my head. "Of course, love. Jasper and Alice and I need to fill these graves and cover our tracks quickly. We can do a post-mortem at the house, if that's alright with you?"

"Sure, sure." I smacked his dead-people-dirt-covered bottom. "Just don't tarry, young man."

The grave on the other side of Sophie's belonged to one Edward Tisdale. I made myself comfortable, sitting against the backside of Mr. Tisdale's marker, keeping him company while waiting for my own Edward as they erased the evidence of our visit.

When the hell would I see Jake again? Was he just going to chase her until he caught up with this mystery woman—I knew Jacob Black well enough to know that he would catch her—or was he running away with her for good? And what kind of danger was _he_ in that she needed to lead him away?

I had to admit that I liked her style; luring was so much classier than pushing.

It broke my heart that he'd imprinted on a girl I'd never even laid eyes on. The rest of the pack would be just as upset.

The earth-moving, sod-throwing bustle behind me came to an abrupt halt and I turned over into a crouch to see if they were ready to leave. To my surprise, the holes weren't quite filled. Too late, Edward plastered on a crooked grin that didn't entirely chase away his concerned expression. His skin gathered and redirected every bit of light like a lesser luminary with a tiny crevice front and center, between his eyebrows. He looked from Alice to me and back again.

Alice brushed the dirt off her hands noisily. "You boys can finish up, right? I'm going to take our girl here back to the house. She's been a good sport but she looks exhausted."

"Thanks, I think. I'd be totally into a shower and some hot chocolate."

She winked at me. "I know."

Edward's kiss goodbye actually felt like "goodbye" and I bit back the instinct to insist that he tell me what the hell Alice had seen and why it upset him so. Without Jake's interference, something new must have developed. Something bad.

* * *

I waited until I was in the shower to ask.

Alice's bathroom was just a giant wet-room with an open shower, a monolithic tub made from a stone feeding trough and a citrus tree in the corner. She soaked in the tub while I lingered under the calming spray.

She'd changed me in my sleep but being conscious and naked in front of Alice was intimidating. She graciously slipped into the tub, busily dumping bubble bath into the running water and splashing noisily as I adjusted. Once the steamy water hit my chilled limbs, I forgot what I was so self-conscious about in the first place.

While casually scrubbing dirt and ancient remains from my hair, I broached the topic that had bugged me since the cemetery. "How bad was it, Alice?"

She didn't even quibble with me about discussing her vision and I loved that about Alice. Now that I was in on the secret life of the Cullens, she didn't treat me like an invalid.

She put down the washcloth she'd been using to scrub her face and squeezed bodywash into it. "The Volturi are coming here to investigate your recent addition to our family.

"They're sending their leader, Aro, with a few members of their guard. Since Aro and Carlisle were friends when Carlisle lived in Italy, this visit is supposed to look like him welcoming Carlisle back to the Old Country. But in reality, Aro has some paranoid suspicions about Carlisle bringing such a large, powerful coven even this close to Volterra.

"He thinks that the only possible motivation for assembling a coven with so many gifted vampires is to organize a coup. The old bat thinks that Carlisle wants to overthrow the Volturi."

I sputtered, barely getting my face out from underneath the spray before I responded. "But that's absurd. You said he's Carlisle's friend and any friend of Carlisle's would know he doesn't have that sort of ambition!" I rinsed the rest of the conditioner from my hair and turned to let the hot water work on my neck.

"You're right, he should. But he knows that Carlisle stands up for his principles and he's afraid Carlisle's gotten wind of something rotten that's up his sleeve."

I lifted my head. "'Rotten?' What's Aro up to?"

"I'm just not sure. I am seeing just a glimpse of what they're doing right now. Their plan seems to be in the air, but I think he'll give himself away soon. I'll just keep watching."

Even under the hot water, a cold chill ran down my spine. "And what does this have to do with me? Why do they need to 'investigate' me?"

The splish-splash of her bathing stopped and I opened my eyes. All I could see was the glistening black of the top of her head. "You know you can trust all of us, right? You are part of this family and we'll make sure everything turns out okay. You will be safe and your family—that includes Jake—will be protected. I will make sure of it."

"That's not making me feel better. It makes me nervous that you have to preface your answer with that."

"Sorry, you're right. But I mean it."

"Thanks, Alice."

"The Volturi are coming because they think you'll have a gift as an immortal and they want to find out what it is, to find out if you're our secret weapon, the missing piece Carlisle been waiting for all these years that will bring them down."

I was ready to spend eternity with Edward Cullen but I wasn't certain if I was ready to give up my family and my human life so soon. I couldn't be changed by then!

"But I won't be a vampire when they get here…will I?"

"No, no. It takes longer than that. Some gifts manifest themselves in a small way while we're still human. Like Jasper: he was charismatic and influenced people as a human, which translated into his talents now. They assume that if we figured it out while you're human, they can too."

"Oh." Why would they think that about me? Did Alice think I would be gifted? "So, will I? Have a gift, I mean?"

Alice giggled. "What makes you think I've seen anything about your future?"

I rolled my eyes hard enough that I should have been dizzy. "Oh, I don't know…maybe the fact that you can't keep your perfect little nose in your own business to save your life?"

"I actually haven't seen much more than your face and your red, newborn eyes. But I _have_ seen it."

I felt like my heart actually stopped. On one hand, I wanted to dance. On the other, my heart sank at the implications of living that life. Thoughts bombarded me from every direction; Edward wouldn't spend eternity alone or have to end his life prematurely. I would have to lie to my family. I wouldn't be the weak link anymore.

I felt light-headed, trying to fight to the surface for air but being inundated with wave after wave of new worries.

Alice rushed over to me with a towel and turned the shower off. "Take a deep breath, Bella. I don't know when. It might be years away."

I sat down on a bench beside the tub. "Why would they think Carlisle would use me to fight? I'd be a newborn, not in any condition to help."

"Until the last few decades, newborns were used as infantry in vampire armies."

"Vampire _armies_? What the hell?"

"That is a story for another night and one that my husband should tell. For now, I think we should focus on getting you out of here for their visit and figuring out this mess with Carlisle's resurrected past.

"It can't be a coincidence that she showed up as the Volturi are heading this way. I think they are connected even if Edward thinks they're not."

"What about Jasper?"

She grinned. "Oh, sweetie, he thinks everything is a conspiracy."

"Really?"

Nodding, she said, "One day, I'll show you his vault full of human/vampire conspiracies. He thinks most important events in human history were directly the result of vampires meddling in human affairs.

"Pyramids? Made with vampire help.

"Greek and Roman gods? Actually vampires."

I laughed uncertainly. Now knowing what I did about the creatures inhabiting my world, both those crazy ideas could be true. "No way!"

"That last one really is true. We know 'Zeus.' He's a crusty old thing living in Romania with his cronies. Anyhow, you get the point. Jasper thinks the Volturi are planning to make their mark in world history with some ill-conceived political machination. He's been waiting on it for years."

"So much for 'keeping the secret.'"

"Humans haven't been aware before; he thinks it will be orchestrated so they don't notice."

"This is kind of overwhelming."

"Like I said, we'll keep you safe. Jasper and Edward will be here soon and we'll get a plan together."

"I'm going to put some pj's on. Can we maybe start on the contents of the box while we're waiting? I need a distraction."

"That fabulous rack of yours is distracting. I'm jealous; mine don't bounce like that."

"I'm not having this conversation with a woman who physically cannot develop cellulite. Or wrinkles."

She smiled apologetically. "But I can't have hot chocolate either. Can I get you some?"

"That sounds heavenly."

* * *

Alice had spread the contents of the box out on the worktables in her documents lab. She was reading a brown leather book and barely acknowledged my entrance with a nod.

"Interesting reading, ma'am?"

"Holy shit, Bella. I don't know if I should let you read it for yourself or just tell you as I go."

I settled into the wingback beside her and picked up the hot chocolate she'd made for me. "Ooooh, I'm all for the vampire-Alice's-speed-reading version and I'll read it for myself later. I'll fall asleep if I have to go through it myself at this hour. What did you find?"

"This is a notebook of Sophie's that she started using just before Carlisle left her here. First of all, Carlisle was right: she knew he was leaving them long before he actually left. Second, she'd heard about some experiments trying to prove the existence of angels by determining their mass—I've read about them before—and was trying to find a chemical to make her like Carlisle before her time with him ran out. And, third, she totally went off the deep end when after she was certain he was gone for good."

"'Off the deep end,' how?"

Alice was flipping through the pages at lightening speed. "She began doing dangerous experiments and medical research—"

"With the vampire-chemical?"

"No, it looks like she gave up on that. She would visit sick people and try medicines on them, with some success. But she seemed to have no regard for her own welfare once he was no longer part of her life.

"She gained some notoriety for her practices and hoped it might get Carlisle's attention. But when it didn't, she retreated back here."

"Wow." Her life turned out so surprisingly, I was breathless. She squeezed so much into the year or two after Carlisle left her.

Alice's page-turning slowed. "But she did get reacquainted with someone from Paris as a result of her notoriety."

"Who? Someone from the caves?"

She crookedly screwed up her mouth. "No name here yet…." She skimmed through the next few pages and stilled. A chill ran up my spine as I realized who would want to be reacquainted with her.

"Alistair?"

Alice shook her head. "She did run into him but she names him separately, so he's not the new friend. He brought her things for the orangerie occasionally and reprimanded her for being around contagious people. Looks like he kept his promise to Carlisle."

She kept skimming through the pages, racing along again at an inhuman speed.

Finally Alice looked up at me, defeated. I knew the name before she read it aloud.

"Keep reading…maybe it gets better. Maybe _he_ didn't turn her."

She whispered with obvious doubt, "Maybe…."

* * *

_**November 13, 1688**_

Watching Carlisle pretend that he will not leave us is almost pitiable. His entire existence has been an apology since our catastrophic visit to the caves and his remorse has only been more evident since he kissed me. He spends every day tying up loose ends, clearing the way to the exit by giving me things no average woman can have—access to any salon or clandestine anatomy tutorial—to atone for what he is about to take from me.

If I told him tomorrow that I could bear to be apart from him should he manage to acquire for me Versailles, I have no doubt it would be mine.

I won't turn his gift offerings down but neither will I allow him to leave easily.

_**April 25, 1690**_

I cannot decide if my Parisian friend is so unsubtle as to believe that I don't recognize his presence even when he keeps out of my view or if he is taunting me, realizing that I am put on notice when he is near.

_**May 1, 1690**_

The opera I attended this evening was lovely; everyone said so. I have no inkling about even the story told, much less the quality of the performances.

He must have been somewhere nearby.

_**May 2, 1690**_

I have it on good authority that a rakish young Frenchman sat three rows behind me. My cousin desperately wanted an introduction and thought he might be the man Carlisle introduced to me at her parents' masque this past winter.

At least this once I am grateful her head for eligible men is more useful than her head for figures.

_**May 5, 1690**_

Tristan de Villiers sent me a note, inviting me to dinner.

I declined; that menu couldn't possibly be to my taste.

* * *

_**Author's Note: **_Some answers, some questions. Hit review and tell me if the answers surprised you.

This chapter arrived quickly because Raizie hinted that it should. She was right. As always.

Teri, you reviewed anonymously so I couldn't reply. Sorry about the lack of B & E. I agree with you and it is on the way. I promise.

Danni, brackets and parentheses need love too. Thanks for lovin' on this chapter and overlooking them.

Clem, thank you for being my Midnight Rider. *snort* I like emailing you about nekkidness in the middle of the night.


	22. Chapter TwentyOne

_**Disclaimer:** The Twilight Saga and its characters belong to Stephenie Meyer._

* * *

Sophie wouldn't go with Tristan…would she? Surely she would have understood that other vampires were dangerous, even if Carlisle and Alistair had treated her well.

She'd declined a dinner invitation but he wouldn't have let that stand in the way of getting her attention. He would be willing to work harder than that to spend time with her. I wondered when he came back at all. Was he suspicious of her relationship with Carlisle? Maybe he just wanted to toy with her to spite Carlisle. "What's the latest date in that notebook, Alice? Start looking through all of these."

Slipping on a pair of gloves, I moved to the worktables to help Alice rummage through the piles of paper and notebooks.

Watching Alice look over each page in a blur, I felt absolutely useless. "I'll start over here. I can do something, even if I am slower."

Alice smiled her approval and gave me a short nod of encouragement, barely slowing her own movements to do so.

I opened the little journal and flipped through from the back towards the front. "I have November of 1691 in this one; what do you have?"

"I have the autumn of 1691 as well, on this playbill she kept with her handwriting on the back. It looks like she didn't actually die in April like her gravestone said. Not a surprise but it's nice to have some evidence."

It sucked but the facts were what they were. No amount of wishing on my part could undo the type of immortal Sophie probably became. My shoulders drooped. "I wanted her to be like you guys…to at least try to be good."

"You can't look at it like that, Bella. I mean, Jasper's introduction to this world was the most monstrous story I've ever heard. But his conscience finally led him the right direction.

"If we don't know her, it's not likely that Sophie's still around. But maybe her conscience finally perked up like Jasper's did."

She was right. My expectations didn't matter and they probably weren't even correct. "You're absolutely right."

"Plus, you're probably wrong anyway."

"You're hateful." I stuck my tongue out at her but didn't blow a raspberry only because my saliva didn't need to be introduced to the old paper. Her teasing had broken my somber mood; I could feel the foggy sadness being burned off by the heat of vigorous purpose.

We'd been home for more than an hour with no word from Edward or Jasper and I was starting to get nervous. It was unlike Edward to go so long without contact, mostly because he worried about me so much. "Do you think we should try to get in contact with one of them?"

She knew exactly which "them" I meant. She was probably thinking the same thing. "They'll be here in twenty minutes but I can't see them until then. I'm guessing it must have something to do with Jake. I wasn't going to interrupt them but if you're antsy we can call."

I exhaled heavily, considering. "No, don't call. I _am_ anxious but it's not worth it. I have this visual of Edward in a tense stand-off with Jake's girlfriend and his phone buzzing. Or worse, playing that canned version of _Claire de Lune_ at the moment he decides to make an important point. So, don't. I'll wait."

She smirked, fighting a giggle. "I know you're tired, but the image in that little tangent only makes me want to call him more. To torture _him_ and put _you_ out of your misery." She practically snorted, trying not to laugh outright.

"Let's dig in to this. I need more distraction and I _need_ to know how much contact Sophie and Tristan had. Alistair said he would watch out for her. You also mentioned that he reprimanded her for risking her own health by being around contagion. Surely he would've warned her off Tristan had he known of the acquaintance."

"Yeah, but you know how girls are with bad boys. And the more Daddy tells you no…."

We were both giggling when I started working.

* * *

Alice worked at the tables with the contents of the wooden chest; I took the single table with the letters from the cellar. I was rereading a poem when Edward and Jasper finally arrived well after two in the morning.

Edward kissed me gingerly, careful not to get dirt all over me. He cast a disapproving eye at Alice. "You may not need to sleep, but she does."

"Oh, shove it. We're fine."

I put a hand on Edward's dirty shoulder, immediately regretting it. "It's really okay. There was no way I could sleep until I knew you were home and then Alice found something interesting about Sophie and Tristan. Sleep was a lost cause then."

He looked at Jasper, who was whispering in the corner with his wife, and something was exchanged between the two men that they didn't share with Alice and me.

However much I wanted to pout and stomp my foot, it wasn't worth it. "Please go take a shower so I can be near you without fear of breathing in dead people…is Jake alright? Did you see him?"

"Jake is more than fine and we did see him." He looked torn about telling me more right away.

"I can wait for you to take a shower to hear the rest of it." He looked unconvinced, so I added, "Really. I'll be right here, reading and nursing my hot chocolate. I had a nap, remember?"

"I'll never live that down."

"Meh. It's not such a big deal, now that Jake has R-U-N-N-O-F-T and he won't be underfoot all the time." Uncharacteristically, I giggled at my own joke.

Edward just screwed his face up and looked at me blankly. Jasper smirked; of course he was familiar with a movie about the South.

"It's from a movie and I'm a little punch drunk. Go." I shooed him away with my hands.

Jasper kissed Alice and the men went to shower.

"You found anything good over there, Bella Swan?"

I peeled off my gloves and sank back in the chair by my mug of hot chocolate. "I've been reading the same damned poem for twenty minutes and I can't make a bit of sense out of it. I think I'm just too tired for upper-level brain function. Whaddya have over there? Anything juicy?"

Alice outlined her plan of attack. "I'm piecing together all the Tristan-related entries in the order they were written. Sophie wrote in different notebooks for different purposes—or maybe just because it was the one she happened to pick up, I can't tell—so all these entries will have to be married. I'll make copies while you're sleeping and impose some order as best I can before I wake you around nine. That way we can really dig in tomorrow."

The potent cocktail of exhaustion and adoration was making me misty at her offer. Crying over chronologically-organized historical documents seemed out-of-character and melodramatic, even for someone as emotionally-invested in said documents as me. I blinked my heavy lids rapidly, hoping to disperse some of the glassiness, and cleared my throat. "Um, thanks. Could you maybe try to put the poems in too? I know it's a big project…."

Another assignment only made her effervesce like champagne. "I'm glad to have something to do; don't feel bad about asking. Which poem has you stumped? Not that I'm any use with them, I'm just asking."

As if. "Stop. You're a one-woman mystery-wrecking crew. Remember the poem Sophie took a line from for the stone jewelry box? That whole thing is bothering me. '_For what could you ask that He wouldn't say yes?_' Like Carlisle _asked_ to be turned so that he could have all the things she lists. It seems to hint that she felt Carlisle had some choice about being turned, but we both know he didn't. It just doesn't go with the facts so I'm wondering if I'm misunderstanding." I shook my head, willing the cobwebs to loosen as I did.

I put my hand-copied version down and looked at the text again.

_Not quickly enough did he turn his gaze _

_From the daughter clothed only in hush._

_Endlessly assaulted by the sweet burn;_

_Branded by a glance surreptitious._

_._

_For what would you want that you couldn't possess?_

_For what could you ask that He wouldn't say Yes?_

_._

_Below, unaware, her sun-tangled mane_

_Brushed her skin as she entered the river._

_Surprised by the cold, a chill kissed her flesh_

_Yet only the voyeur did shiver._

_._

_For what would you want that you couldn't possess?_

_For what could you ask that He wouldn't say Yes?_

_._

_Now uninspired in his exquisite cage_

_Serenaded by symphonies of seraphim_

_He abandoned its heights for a life below_

_And ruined a choir of cherubim._

_._

_For what could you want that He wouldn't possess?_

_For what would you ask that He couldn't say Yes?_

.

Alice looked at the poem on the worktable. "Did she write it early on, based on bad information maybe?"

I shrugged. "Not likely. She reiterated the words later anyway."

"Right."

We were silently struggling with the poem when Edward came to take me to bed. "What has this lovely brain trust pinned down?"

"A poem. I'm just tired and verse isn't really Alice's thing so we're not making any headway."

He wrapped his shower-warmed arms around me. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Alice piped up. "Oooh. Looks like I've got another, um, _big_ project on my hands, Bella. I'll jump back on this in the morning."

Edward closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger.

* * *

We bade Alice good-night and walked to my room. Edward stretched across the bed next to me. "This has certainly been an interesting evening. How are you holding up?"

"I don't even know how to answer that question. I mean, Jake and Sophie and…Jake's woman." Edward might know her name.

I looked at him, silently urging him to tell me. "Who is she?"

"I don't know yet. She met Jake in the woods long enough to agree to a rendezvous. He didn't want us to know the details and I think it's a wise choice on his part."

My lungs deflated in a huff, mirroring my sentiments on the situation exactly. "That's it?"

He dug a little deeper and came out with only a surface-level description. "I saw her in his memories. She's a pretty brunette with a London accent and she looks like she has the weight of the world on her shoulders."

"Do you think I'll get to meet her soon?"

"When all this settles out, I'm sure you will. You and Jake are family. He doesn't even know if she's interested in him but, if she is, I'm sure she'll want to know you and all the rest of his Washington clan."

He brushed back the lock of hair sliding down my forehead and kissed the skin it had been covering up.

I closed my eyes and sighed, finally relaxing a bit. "Mmmm. You're still warm from the shower; get under the covers and don't waste it."

Obediently, he slid underneath the blankets. I squandered no time either, sliding my hand under his shirt before he was settled.

I kissed the hollow at the base of his throat and asked, "Since things have been so…dangerous recently, I've been making a kind of 'to-do' list in my mind."

"You don't need safety checklists or a 'Plan B,' Bella. I'll always make sure that you are safe."

"No, not like that. Like a list of things that I have to do with my life."

He stiffened. "What did Alice tell you?"

"Edward, she told me what she saw…about me being like you. And I don't quite know how I feel about that yet. No matter why my heart stops beating—or when, for that matter—there are a few things that I want. And I don't want all the things I haven't done hanging over my head if we have to face down the Volturi."

"I told you, it won't come to that."

"I love you and I know you'd do anything to make those words true, but the simple fact is you can't make that promise. You lack the ability to guarantee my life."

"I'll concede the point for the time being because I'm dying to know where you're headed with this. Your cheeks feel like tiny suns."

I summoned up every bit of courage I had, and some frustration too. This wasn't something I should even have to ask for and remembering that helped. So when I fixed my jaw and lowered my gaze, the love of my life gulped nervously as if he were readying himself for something awful.

In my sweetest voice, I told him, "Make love to me."

"Now?" He was stalling, anxiously making a play for some time to think.

My not-quite-contained giggle exited my nose as a snort. "I wouldn't be against that but I am really tired."

Before I could even resist, he rolled me onto my back and pinned me beneath him. "I want you—_all_ of you—Bella Swan. I want to make every square inch mine, and I will. I'll get there; I promise.

"I have a 'to-do' list as well, you know. A rather short one."

"How short?"

"Not quite five-foot-five. It's pretty Bella-centric."

"Sounds like I'll be busy."

He licked his lips and I felt my ability to speak melt like candy on my tongue. "Very. In fact, I'd like you to be _very_ busy for a _very_ long time."

I bit my bottom lip. Had the conversation just turned dirty? "Really…" was all I could manage, and I wasn't certain it was even audible.

He angled his face down and considered…something—his words, my mood, the phase of the moon—before deciding to speak. Then, raising his chin to look me in the eye, he whispered, "I was thinking along the lines of 'as long as we both shall live.'"

Oh.

I didn't need a ring or a ceremony to know how he felt about me. "You know that I'm yours always."

He spoke those two binding words: "I do." And just when I thought my heart would seize up and refuse to beat again, he put his mouth to mine as if we actually were in a cathedral—multi-colored rays of sunlight filtering through the stained glass, pews full of reverently bated breath, and all of it forgotten as he kissed his wife for the first time—creating a drumbeat in my chest that even I could hear plainly.

Silently he'd argued his point better than I'd thought possible.

For the first time, I began to understand what he wanted. A wedding wasn't for the benefit of a materially-driven event industry or disapproving aunts or even attention-grubbing girls in white dresses. In fact, our promising to forsake all others would be sacred in spite of anything like that.

For the first time, I wanted to say "yes."

He pulled his mouth just far enough away from mine to speak. "Bella, I _will_ ask properly. When you're not so tired and we're truly alone, I'll ask again. I just want you to know what's on my mind. It's almost always you. You're everything now and I don't want," he gestured to the room at large, seeming to indicate the events of the last few weeks that were tightening the noose around us, "all of this to distract from that."

Unable to trust my voice, I kissed him again.

* * *

I woke up and literally hit the floor running, rushing through getting dressed and ready for the morning, still aglow from my conversation with Edward the night before. I scarfed down some breakfast and an espresso while Edward, Alice and Jasper filled me in on the other overnight events.

Every sheet upstairs had been copied and collated a few different ways. The first three-ring binder Alice handed me contained every piece of writing in chronological order—or at least, their best estimate, since some of it wasn't dated. The second binder organized each cache of writing the way we found it and in the order we found them. A third binder organized each subject Sophie worked on in chronological order.

Jasper had hidden a fourth set of copies to take back to his conspiracy vault for later. I didn't even smirk when he mentioned it but a giant grin spread across his face and he winked at me. "Everybody's gotta have a hobby, Miss Bella. I'm sure I could dig up some embarrassing facts about you when I get some free time."

I shook my head vigorously. "No need. I think it's cute."

He and Edward cringed at the word "cute."

It got quiet and I realized why no one was talking. They knew more. They'd read all these pages while I was sleeping and they'd found more.

"Go ahead and tell me now. I'll have to spend the rest of the month reading to catch up with you speed demons, but tell me what you've already read so that I can be useful today."

Edward's voice was comfort food for my ears and I was glad he started the tale. "There aren't many entries in the month after Alistair took over watching Sophie for Carlisle. She scribbled notes about water and food and sunlight in the orangerie as if she felt some obligation to it. But about four weeks into her self-imposed solitary confinement, a few things happened: Alistair's runner brought a package with vines, fruit and cocoons to Allesworth for her; William arrived; and a letter came saying that her aunt in Paris was very ill."

Alice's excited voice punctuated Edward's storytelling. "And the fishpond froze over, but not all the way through."

He continued, "The first few pages, like I mentioned, were bare save the driest facts. Among those facts was a mention of the fishpond in the orangerie. It does give us an idea of how bleak her days were but it doesn't tell us much about what she was thinking.

"The cocoons contained moths, of course, and my guess is that Alistair hoped bringing in living creatures that only she could care for might tempt her out of her depressed state. He was mildly successful. She spent her days in the sunshine there, working with William and acquiring more insects.

"Not being able to help the sick aunt, Sophie felt impotent and frustrated. When she expressed this to William, he suggested she do house calls with a local physician. She'd confessed to him about attending anatomy lectures and he knew she'd be a quick student. The old country doctor wasn't too thrilled to have a woman with him, if Sophie's impressions were correct, but she assumed he was being reimbursed for his troubles. My guess is that William wanted her to do anything away from the house and this was the first thing he could find. Soon enough, recounting those calls and documenting the events in her orangerie began to take up a dozen pages a week. She began playing with her old poems as well, though not writing anything new just yet.

"Early in the spring, she returned to Paris on a proper passenger ship."

I interrupted. "Without Alistair?"

Edward nodded as he continued. "Without Alistair. But _with_ William, it turns out. Sophie's aunt recovered from her illness but the woman's husband died. Sophie and William came to Paris in the wake of that. I'm guessing again, but I think he didn't want a repeat of her last disastrous journey abroad and only came with her to prevent more fallout."

I could hardly blame him.

"Once they arrive in Paris, Sophie is reminded of Carlisle and begins manically throwing herself into projects—do you want the details now?"

Time was of the essence so I declined. "No. The quick and dirty version is fine."

Jasper and Alice snickered.

Obviously annoyed but determinedly ignoring them, Edward carried on with the story. "Her aunt and William form an attachment and the aunt, Jane, gets sick again, probably with pneumonia. William is determined not to leave the last remaining pieces of Sophie's family in shambles and makes arrangements for them to stay through the spring.

"Over the course of the spring, Sophie declines multiple invitations from Tristan. Finally, he comes to a salon and begins ingratiating himself to her family, using Carlisle's interactions with them as a prototype."

I gasped; this was happening too quickly. Not the real events—we'd covered months in a matter of moments—but the retelling was happening too quickly for me to process it meaningfully. I had misjudged. "I think I was wrong. I know that we don't have the luxury of time right now but I'm going to have to read some of this for myself. Will that work out?" I looked to Alice.

She nodded. "We'll make certain it does."

Edward handed me the chronologically-organized binder and I curled up in the wing chair. I flipped forward to the entries in May of 1690, almost a year before the date on her headstone. For the next five hours, he only returned to bring me tea or biscuits.

Ooo—ooO

**May 6, 1690**

Monsieur de Villiers has impeccable manners and prepared insightful comments for our discussion this evening. He is quite the philosopher. It is not a surprise, given his origin, that he would have a penchant for examining existence.

Nevertheless, his presence was most unwelcome and I minced no words in telling him so. But somehow, in his presence, words I am perfectly well-acquainted with no longer convey the same meaning. If I were to spend hours in front of a mirror practicing, I could not simper on cue. "Coquettish" or "capricious" have never been used to describe me, except possibly in jest.

And the joke wouldn't be terribly amusing.

Yet, somehow, I spoke the words, "I had no intention of making your company again," and they sounded as if being in the same room with him was my deepest desire and I'd had no idea how to make it come to fruition. As if I'd wanted nothing more. As if his existence was perfectly in harmony with the natural order of things. As if I wanted _him_ to be my white knight.

I cannot explain the way I feel when I am in his presence. I can sense him, feel pulled to him, even though we are not touching. As if that were not enough, his pull also affects my emotions. From the moment I am aware of him, I become a lapdog who wants only to be stationed at her master's side, begging for scraps and caresses. Such an idea is utter ridiculousness. My lack of control has actually made me dizzy with anger!

I think my only recourse is, once again, the written word. Proximity is dangerous.

**May 21, 1690**

Aunt Jane invited him to our home tonight. She is just barely well enough to sit through a meal herself and talked William into having Tristan in our home for the evening, imagining him to be appropriate company for us. I said that I had a headache but who can be left to their own devices when Jane has risen from her sick bed just so that we can have a pleasant family dinner? Propelled by guilt alone, I attended. I spoke a handful of words the entire evening, unable to trust even my own tongue.

**June 15, 1690**

Every event I have attended this week, he has insinuated himself into it. I don't know what to make of it. Thus far, Tristan has been nothing but polite. He doesn't ignore me but he doesn't push his way into my conversations either.

I promised Carlisle my silence and he will have it always. That wouldn't mean that Tristan has promised anyone _his _silence. That he might know where or how Carlisle is tempts me to suffer his foolishness.

At a party this evening, we were standing with our backs to one another, involved in separate conversations. I could not add more to mine than the most mundane remarks which, as it turned out, weren't perfectly relevant or articulate.

**June 20, 1690**

Everyone in the house has thrown their windows open to let in the breeze but I could not bring myself to do the same and so I slept in my stifling upper room, afraid that he would know that I know that he knows it is an invitation to come and go as he pleases. This is an idea whose merits are as ridiculous as its phrasing. Of course, using such convoluted logic, my conspicuously closed window conveys almost as much information.

And so tonight it is open and I cannot sleep for fear of waking with him standing next to me.

I have only myself to blame for this sleepless night but I will let him shoulder the burden regardless.

My family will leave Paris soon for the country house and I must decide if I am going with them. William must return to London, at least briefly, to attend to business and his home. If I do not accompany him, he will have to see to Allesworth as well.

Ooo—ooO

I put the binder down and picked up my tea, wanting to tell Sophie to go to London, to stay with William, to stay away from a rogue like Tristan, but I was too late, of course. All I could think was, _if I know better, how could she not? _She had to have known he was dangerous.

I took a long drink and let the warmth slide down my throat, considering what I'd already read.

Why hasn't she mentioned the fact that his eyes are the color of blood? She's an observant girl and that wouldn't go unnoticed outside of a masked ball. And why wasn't she _afraid_? Just the thought of the Volturi coming to inspect me scared me to death, even if they weren't on their way to have me for dinner. Red eyes would always be a signal of danger.

I was getting frustrated about events that had occurred more than three hundred years ago. _A bit tardy, aren't you, Miss Swan?_

I knew parting company with William was a bad idea but I couldn't go back and undo it for Sophie. I took a deep breath and read on.

Ooo—ooO

**July 21, 1690**

I have always wondered what tempted Carlisle most. Something drew him into humanity and I cannot decide what it was. There are the obvious desires of the flesh. But those didn't seem to rule him. He wasn't entirely _un_affected but they weren't his only motivation.

Tristan possesses a single-mindedness Carlisle did not. If I am at a place he will be too. He intends to reduce me to an anonymous hash on a page crowded with tally-marks, I believe.

I have investigated discreetly and heard not a hint of scandal involving him and another girl. As long as he is no danger to another, I will hold my tongue.

When this adolescent pursuit began, I could go an entire evening without speaking to him but come home with my heart racing and cheeks flushed. Now I have progressed to imagining every casual brush of the hand to be him. If I attend a ball with two hundred other people, such inadvertent touching can happen dozens upon dozens of times. Each time, it is his finger on the short expanse of bare skin between my sleeve and my glove, his hand against the small of my back, his hip pressed into mine.

I am consistently disappointed. No. Not I am not disappointed, simply mistaken.

In a crowded room, I hear only his voice. Even if it is barely above a whisper.

While Carlisle existed only to help me, it seemed, Tristan is here only to ruin me. So tonight, I shouldn't have been surprised when I felt a hand on my waist, guiding me through the crush of people returning to their seats after intermission. The accompanying sweet breath at my ear was familiar and yet, not. It was chilling, not warm and humid, and smelled like a kitchen full of candies.

Startled, I bit down on my lip hard enough to make myself grimace.

He didn't utter a word of inquiry, he just shepherded me into the wrong balcony—an _empty_ balcony with the drapes conveniently drawn—and held onto me as if I were about to tumble off a cliff.

I tried unsuccessfully to see what he was up too, turning my head as far over my shoulder as my neck would allow. His eyes bored into me and he examined me as if it was _I_ who was the enigma. He turned me, for further inspection, I assumed. The obvious scrutiny made me squirm and I opened my mouth to protest aloud. He clamped his hand over it.

And then he kissed me. With my back to him, he closed me in a vice-like embrace. He didn't ask like Carlisle had; he pressed his mouth into the hollow of my neck and he took what he wanted. I remember arching my neck back, unable to feel angry or even guilty about something so delicious, and he whispered, "I will make you deliriously happy, mon ange." He brought the hand planted over my mouth around to the nape of my neck, weaving his constantly-roving fingers through the hair there, and kissed my mouth.

With no effort at all, never removing his mouth from mine, he picked me up and carried me to a seat. Even writing this, my hand trembles. I have never regretted something more.

At the time, I couldn't remember ever having wanted something more. I arched my back and writhed under his hands as they skimmed my thin, summer-weight bodice. My hands wormed their way under his frock-coat and my fingernails dug into the fabric of his shirt.

He must have heard her outside because he kissed me one last time, softly this time, and disappeared into the shadow as my cousin opened the little door. Had she not come to look for me, it could have been so much worse.

The only evidence of my unbelievable behavior was a broken nail and the purple-red mark shaped like a thumbprint on a rib below my breast. When I happened upon the bruise, I inspected myself in a mirror to be sure.

**July 23, 1690**

I have not seen Tristan since our private engagement in what turned out to be the Queen's box at the opera, nor have I been given any other indicator of his continued presence. I cannot help but worry but I am too relieved to voice my concern or inquire about him.

This sleeping dog shall lie.

**July 25, 1690**

A parcel was dropped for me today by Alistair's young shadow, some books and chemicals I requested. That child is wise beyond his years and I hate to see him ruined by the likes of Alistair. Included was a poultice to speed the disappearance of a bruise.

Ooo—ooO

The entries for the next few months centered mostly around her experiments and house calls. She was growing more reckless with regard to her own safety, both in the laboratory and with her patients. She was a woman and not a doctor, so only the sickest and poorest would let her touch them. She never declined.

At Christmas, she told her family that she needed to return to Allesworth to tend to business there.

Ooo—ooO

**December 25, 1690**

Aunt Jane corresponds with William too regularly for me to keep my return a secret. I should arrive at Allesworth in two days, aboard a proper passenger boat. Uncle William's letter says two _weeks_.

**December 28, 1690**

I am home safely with little to unpack. My houseguest arrived before I did, not that I am surprised.

**January 5, 1691**

When he goes, I know that I will regret this. But right now I cannot find it in myself to regret anything.

**January 20, 1691**

I sent a note to Alistair, hoping to find Carlisle. I'm not certain how I could have possibly been so blind. What did Carlisle think when he left?

Ooo—ooO

From this entry forward, the entries became almost curt, as if she was too angry to speak even to herself. In among the April entries was someone else's handwriting. Alice had attached a sticky note to the page_: I found a loose slip of paper with this note written on it tucked in between these pages._

The note read:

_**I know what you asked of me and I understand why. My life is distasteful to you; I am sorry to make you one of us. **_

_**I did just as you asked but the facts are not what we imagined they would be and I will only remedy them if it is still your wish when I return.**_

_**Do not under any circumstances leave this room or you will regret it as the only meal nearby is under your employ. **_

More cryptic notes? Really?

I read the last entries and leaned down to pick up my mug of tea.

Ooo—ooO

**August 16, 1691**

Only after accomplishing the feat of writing a letter on a loose sheet of paper have I allowed myself to write here. Because it contained so much from my previous life, it was only given back to me after all but a trace of my old smell remained on it.

That I was delicious is morbidly amusing.

I am as well as can be expected. The house is empty except for us and I remain barricaded in the cellar most of the time. My occasional journeys to hunt have been uneventful. He is vigilant about our secrecy and a mistake on my part would compromise that.

I agree with him about being careful and allow him to curtail my freedom to roam as he sees fit for now.

She never leaves his side and for that I am also grateful.

I wonder why I even write, since I remember so well. He says old habits contain my old self and that, though I don't entirely understand now, one day I will want to hold onto as many pieces of that girl as I can scrape together. He is helping me horde them now in preparation for that time, it seems. Maybe he wishes he'd held onto some of his old self.

He also says that she will want to read about me. I sympathize with her on that account. It is a feeling that I tie to a strong memory, one I carried into this life.

Ooo—ooO

The next words were blacked out and I dropped the binder on my lap with a huff. Three sets of amber eyes were peering at me anxiously when I looked up. I hadn't even noticed them enter.

I rubbed my face with my hands and jumped right in. "I guess the 'she' is Jake's woman and 'she' joined them around the time Sophie was turned."

Jasper answered. "That's what we think too."

My questions from earlier remained unanswered. "So why didn't she notice Tristan's red eyes and why would she be so stupid as to go with him?"

Alice pursed her lips as she sank to the ground in front of me. "If Alistair picked up the trick to keeping golden eyes, Tristan could've too. But as far as why Sophie went anywhere near him…that's not so easy to explain."

I looked at Edward. I knew that all three of these people had, at some point, wanted to drink me dry. But our relationships helped them keep that feeling at bay, gave them a reason to fight it off. If there were no connection, if I disliked them, the fear would take over instantly.

I asked Edward, "Do you have a theory?"

"I think _you_ have a theory."

"I wouldn't hold out if I did; I promise."

Alice's tinkling little laugh broke the somber mood. "Remember how he said he wanted to talk to you about your dreams? You talk in your sleep…like a lot."

Jasper walked outside the doorway and I realized that my face was scorching, the heat blazing from blood pooling at the surface of my face. _Of course_ I was blushing—they'd all heard me mumble who-knows-what about Edward for days now.

_I hate vampires and their super-hearing, no-sleeping selves. I want a bedroom with two-foot-thick, windowless walls. I might have Jake pee in the doorway just to make entering when I opened the door unpleasant._

Edward put his hands up immediately. "It's not that what you say in your sleep is embarrassing. It's brilliant, I think. I'm not certain, but I think you are hashing out some fantastic ideas in your dreams."

I wasn't quite buying it. "Really?"

Alice answered. "You were talking about that poem that we were reading before you went to sleep. And you kept repeating parts of Sophie's last note to Carlisle, 'I know now and I need your help.'"

Edward offered, "Do you want me to find the note?"

"No. I remember it. What would Sophie know after she played house with Tristan that she didn't know before?"

I picked up the chronologically-ordered notebook and flipped back from January of 1691 to the poem quoted on the jewelry box. She'd seemed to quote those words in anger.

The verses were written just after Carlisle kissed her, November, 1688.

I started plowing through it. "The 'he' would be Carlisle, you three agree?"

Alice and Edward nodded and I looked up to Jasper, still looming in the doorway. "I'm done with the embarrassment for now. Please come back and help with this."

He grinned widely and I felt warm and fuzzy all over, as if the dingy, gray lights in our workspace had suddenly warmed to the golden tones just before sunset. I guessed that Jasper must have felt the same way.

Edward wrapped an arm around my shoulder and kissed the top of my head. "Do you think that the narrator's addressing Carlisle or the reader in the repeated lines?"

At the same time, the three of us said, "Carlisle."

He continued, "So what is she saying happened?"

Possibly to save all of us from my predictable embarrassment at mentioning in mixed company both naked people _and_ sexual desire, Jasper volunteered, "He was tempted by a pretty girl with nothing on. Probably by herself, if it was silent around her."

Alice added, "And he was watching from above. It says that the girl was, 'Below, unaware' while he watched."

The moment Alice said "watching from above," the whole thing fell into place for me. And it didn't feel good. It felt like I'd been punched in the gut. I looked at the other three, hoping someone else had reached the same conclusion. Hoping that they had something to add.

They looked at me expectantly, Jasper feeling my dread, Edward knowing he did and Alice having seen it happen.

I looked at her first.

"You have to decide to talk about it, which you clearly haven't done, for me to see it."

I cleared my throat and jumped in, determined not to think about the implication, just the facts. "Did Carlisle ever say the word 'vampire' to Sophie, Edward?"

The notch appeared above the bridge of his nose as he remembered someone else's memories. "Not as far as I know."

"Did he ever say that anyone else like him kills _humans_ for their meals?"

He answered more quickly this time. "No."

"Did he ever actually talk to Sophie about what he was or did he just assume that she knew? Because all I remember hearing was that he asked her not to talk about it to anyone, even if they seemed to know."

Jasper narrowed his eyes. "You don't think she really understood."

I shook my head. "I think Carlisle was new to your world and afraid for her life and jumped on a plausible worst-case-scenario. Because even in what he considered the worst possible situation, given what he knew, he could protect her if he swore her to silence and treated her as if she did know. I think he neglected to make certain that she actually needed it."

Edward toyed with my hair. "I can relate to that instinct. If Sophie didn't think Carlisle was a vampire, what did she think?"

"Look at the poem. He was watching her from above. He seemed to have pretty direct access to God. 'Seraphim.' His exit ruined a 'choir of cherubim.'

"And think about what she saw. Carlisle was fast and beautiful and glittered inhumanly in the sun and wanted only to protect her.

"She thought he was an angel. One who'd chosen sin and came to earth, but an angel nonetheless.

"It's why she distrusted the other two but wasn't too afraid to be alone with them. And it's why she quoted that scripture about angels when she threatened to jump out of her window."

Edward wasn't quite on board yet. "That scripture relates how the devil tempted Jesus. He told Jesus to throw himself off the temple battlement and Jesus declined, saying he wouldn't test God that way."

Jasper filled in the missing bit. "Because the devil said angels would swoop in and save him. Not God. He'd send angels to do the job."

I nodded.

Edward laughed darkly. "It would kill him to know that."

I grabbed his hand urgently. "I'm so sorry. I know he's…he was your whole world for a long time. I didn't mean to cast aspersions on him. I might not even be right."

Alice spoke up. "No, Bella. You don't need to take anything back, or feel bad. We'll figure this out. I don't think we should tell Carlisle until we do, though."

Without lifting his face from his hands, Edward seconded Alice's motion. "I agree. I've never kept anything from him but I don't want this on his mind when the Volturi come here."

The other three locked eyes. Jasper helped me out and said the words out loud. "This can't be on _anyone's_ mind when Aro gets here. Son of a bitch! How are we gonna pull this off? He'll know the minute he touches one of us and denying him a handshake is just asking for a fight."

"I don't understand."

Edward explained. "I can hear someone's current thoughts, as long as I'm in their vicinity. Aro hears every thought you've ever had when he touches your skin. His preferred means of contact is the hand."

My thoughts were the only thing that I could keep to myself. Were they not even safe any longer? "Even mine?"

Jasper's mouth curled up into a smirk. "I think you might've just cooked Aro's goose, Miss Bella. It's a bit of a gamble but I think it's our only choice."

Jasper might have been a gambling man but Edward didn't look as convinced.

* * *

**Author's Note:** The moral of this chapter? _Someone_ sees you skinnydipping, even if it's just an angel. (Better them than my mother.)

Thank you, Danni and Clementine, for carving out some time for me in your busy lives. They make sure my chapters are watertight. It ain't an easy job; there are plenty of places for this baby to take on water and sink fast.

I have been entranced by the "Age of Edward" contest entries (kiss Clem, she won the YA division and _**TWO **_judges' awards) and want to suggest you go check them out.

Denverpopcorn wrote the gritty/sexy/funny/sweet entry, "Bunny Does NYC," which has Edward in the projector booth playing skin flicks for 1970's NYC. The Meadow never looked like that before. Her WIP, "Drift," is equally worthy of your attention. It's a spare, gripping character sketch set against the backdrop of a snow day that has just taken me by the heart and won't let go.

That was a pretty big reveal. Someone hold me.


	23. Chapter TwentyTwo

_Disclaimer: The Twilight Saga and its characters belong to Stephenie Meyer._

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* * *

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**Last time on _Metaphysics:_**

_Jasper's mouth curled up into a smirk. "I think you might've just cooked Aro's goose, Miss Bella. It's a bit of a gamble but I think it's our only choice."_

_Jasper might have been a gambling man but Edward didn't look as convinced._

* * *

"Bella is not a decoy or a distraction to be waved in front of Aro."

Edward hovered in the corner of the room, a fuming monolith, yet Jasper seemed unperturbed. He continued his explanation coolly. "I don't mean it like that, Edward. Here's what I figure: you know he's sent some recon out here to make sure we're around. Nothing stupid lives that long by dumb luck.

"So he's sent someone here to check us out…hell, all he had to do was send a human and then shake their hand to download, you know? It wouldn't be too difficult.

"If he knows who is here now, and we all disappear just when he decides to visit, he's going to think something's up. He'll have all of us hunted down so fast, our heads will spin. Right before they hit the ground and roll into a bonfire."

Alice seemed to agree with Jasper. "And Bella is the whole reason for his journey. If she isn't here, he'll just wait for her return or go hunt her down."

Edward still seemed unmoved. I, on the other hand, was already siding with Jasper and Alice and wondering how to convince Edward.

Jasper casually kept on, as if Edward weren't contemplating a triple homicide just to save Aro the trouble. "Bella's what he's worried about. Bella and Carlisle. Let him look all he wants, Edward…there's not an ounce of conspiracy to be found in Carlisle Cullen and he won't get a peep out of our Bella."

Edward arched an eyebrow in disbelief. There was no way to know Aro couldn't hear me until he held my hand.

Jasper conceded. "We'll have a back-up plan in place, obviously."

Edward looked to Alice, at least considering whether or not he could give his consent to Jasper's idea.

I spit the words out before I had a chance to think too hard about it. Disappointing Edward was difficult enough, no reason to drag it out. "I say yes."

A growl rumbled like distant thunder in Edward's throat. I hated to imagine the storm that would come with it. Still, I kept on.

"I _tried_ to broadcast my thoughts to you, remember?" We both smirked; he remembered. "We know they aren't going anywhere. So if he wants to look me over, make sure I'm not going to be causing the next vampire World War, let him. We can't live our lives running from them."

Alice interrupted our stare-down. "Bella's going to get her way, Edward."

He glared at us, murderous. "No. She. Is. Not. Not this time. There has to be a way around leaving her here with a group of people who have no idea what's going on. A single…damnation, I can't even…a snap of a finger and she'd be gone from me forever."

He sank into the armchair beside me and buried his face in his palms, like an ostrich in a sandbox.

I was winning the argument but there was nothing victorious about hurting him. I tried to reason with him again. The words were, I quickly realized, as much for my benefit as his. "I run that risk every time I walk to the grocery store or get in a car. We've had this conversation before."

His head rocked from side to side in disagreement. "I can deal with the mundane. This is _asking_ for him to take you. It's suicide."

Alice interjected again. "He can't hear her, Edward. Jane can't even get her."

That moved him, if only the tiniest bit, but not enough to make him give it his support or lift his face. "As much as I'd like to see them get their comeuppance, this isn't how I want it to happen."

He wasn't going to give in easily. Maybe I could make some options for us to consider. If I made up my mind to flee, could that change what Alice saw?

"Then we run. We go to some island with no communication with the outside world and take my family and yours. It just has to be warm and I'm going to need some air-conditioning." I said it with all the conviction I could muster, ignoring all the obvious problems that screamed for my attention.

Alice shook her head apologetically. "You don't mean that."

I nodded vigorously. "Yes. Yes I do."

"If you did, I wouldn't be watching Aro take Edward's head off for trying to protect you."

Until the calm I was feeling became blissfully peaceful, I'd forgotten Jasper was even in the room. Hell, I hadn't even noticed how panicked I'd become until my light-headedness ebbed and I could take an unrestricted breath. I smiled conspiratorially at him. "I think we might be a little past that point now."

He raised one side of his mouth in a half-grin. "Apparently not, darling."

I looked again at Edward, who hadn't opened his eyes or taken his hand from his forehead since Alice said I was going to get my way. His middle finger had been massaging circles there the entire time.

I knelt at his feet. "This isn't about who's right and who's wrong. If you don't leave, we're both going to pay with our lives in a short, ugly fight. Right now, I'd rather be the live dog than the dead lion.

"And I know we don't have a lot of time to improvise but if another solution comes up, I'm okay with looking into it. For now, this is the only choice we have."

He was barely audible when he answered. "I'll think of something else."

Alice nodded at me. I brought his face down to mine. "I hope so. I'm a huge chicken, especially without you holding my hand."

I looked back to Alice and Jasper. "Who will be with me?"

Jasper answered, "Carlisle, Esme, Emmett and Rose. Rose is gonna be a tough sell on this one but I think we can do it."

Still not changing position, Edward murmured. "The only reason I'd be apart from Bella right now is to do something over-the-top for her…let's pretend I'm going to get an engagement ring. That will camouflage most of our loose ends."

The more decided I became about doing things this way, the more tension even I could sense mounting and evolving in the room. If I felt it, I could only imagine what Jasper was getting. His face revealed none of the anxiety I expected. He looked like a cat about to pounce: pupils dilated, eyes alighting on each of us rapid-fire, chin instinctively lifted for the best view of the room. I half-expected to see a tail twitching behind him.

Finally, Edward raised his face to look at me appraisingly. I wasn't sure what he was "hearing" from Alice and Jasper, but it was doing the trick. He must have been addressing something Alice saw; it wasn't answering anything I heard. "Bella can't lie. If I tell Carlisle we are going to get married, it would explain her blushing and stammering."

"It will work." Alice's face was like the ticker at the bottom of a news feed. Her reactions gave the gist of what she saw but only enough of the details to make me want to know more. I could feel myself getting frustrated but I knew better than to let it take root. I swallowed hard and considered retreating to read with my iPod until they finished hashing this out.

Jasper walked towards me, stopping about three feet away, hands clasped behind his back like a choirboy. "This exchange that they do _is_ frustrating from the outside. How about you and me take a walk?"

"I could use some fresh air."

With a wink (at Alice) and a nod (at Edward), we exited.

* * *

The two of us walked towards the garden temple silently. The sun was settling itself in for the evening, the amber light filtering though the bare trees in a kiss goodnight. I loved that last gift of sunlight. It was my favorite of the day, a parting promise. Occasionally, a ray would sneak through the branches and scatter on Jasper's skin in technicolor.

My paralyzing, frightening day ahead seemed miles away at that moment, regardless of its rapid approach.

I looked up to see Jasper smiling beatifically. No wonder Sophie saw angels when she looked at them.

"I'm sorry I'm always in your head…or heart, as it were."

I responded with a whisper of a laugh. "It's fine. At least you only see the outline of what's on my mind. It could be a lot more damning."

"True. You know you don't emote like most humans? Has Edward already told you this?"

"No. You guys are giving me a complex, pointing out my myriad idiosyncrasies."

"He and I decided they're all related. So, just _one_ big, fat idiosyncrasy, not ten thousand. And, believe me, it's a good thing."

"How?"

"You aren't guarding your emotions on purpose—I would see right through that—but your feelings aren't a constant torrent of, well, anything. I think you don't let your emotions run away with you like most of us do. You think before you react."

"Doesn't everybody?" Nothing like asking an expert.

"Most people react first and then have to deal with that reaction coloring their thoughts. If they're lucky, they _might_ think before they speak. Obviously, most folks don't even do that." While Edward seemed to have come to terms with his gift, Jasper's gift was part of him, one he was fond of. It wasn't a fragment, a piece he would shake away if he could.

"You—you simply analyze what you're exposed to. You react to it _afterwards_. It kicks ass. You will make one kickass vampire, Miss Bella."

I would.

I was going to become a vampire.

It wasn't reasonable to think that I could be Edward's other half, his mate, and not be like him. If it were possible for him to be like me, he would. It would have already happened.

"I will, won't I?" I grinned widely at all those years with Edward, rolled out like a red carpet.

"You know that none of us would have chosen this life, right?"

"I do. If it weren't for Edward, I wouldn't either. But I can't do forever without him and I couldn't imagine making him doing it, either. He acts as if I should live out my natural life in this body but the first time I got really sick—cancer, pneumonia, a solid blow to the head—he'd just eat himself alive with guilt and do God knows what to try to make me better.

"That's not a 'normal human existence.' My human life will never be normal."

He kicked a rock and sent it flying. "That's the way the rest of us see it. Well, all of us but Rose. And that's my ulterior motive for bringing you out here. You two will be spending some time in close quarters and I don't want her attitude to make you doubt yourself or the rest of us.

"You are as much a part of this family as Carlisle or Edward. Know that."

I could feel myself tearing up.

Jasper dropped his chin to his chest. If he'd had that twitching tail, it would've been tucked between his long legs. "Hells bells, I haven't made a girl cry in a century. I'm sorry."

I wasn't thinking. If I had been, I never would have done it.

I stepped into him and threw my arms around his middle, my cheek against his chest, the only thing I had to give back. Only when I noticed that his chest didn't rise or fall did it occur to me what I'd done.

At that point, I knew I needed to be very, very still.

"It's okay, Bella. Look up at me." He peeled my fingers from his sweater and put me back on my own two feet.

Even through my saline-distorted vision, I could tell I was looking into still-golden eyes. Another sob bubbled up and I choked it back.

"You don't need to cry. We all love you and, while that should probably scare you more than a little bit, it's nothing to waste a tear over. We're gonna get through this mess with Aro, buy some time and take stock once we've got some breathing room.

"And you're getting married." He tapped me on the chin with his index finger. We were walking again and he was breathing normally.

As if he hadn't thought of it before, he asked, "Have you even talked to anyone back home about getting married?"

"He hasn't asked yet, you know."

He waved off my qualifier. "Pshaw. The only question is whether or not you'll let him linger in the misery of not knowin' what you're gonna say.

"You _are_ gonna make him sweat this, aren't you?"

We'd reached the pavilion and he sat with me on the step.

I shrugged. "I'm no good at hard to get."

Jasper laughed so hard that, for a second, I thought something else must be funny. I looked towards the house to make sure Edward wasn't leaning out the window in a werewolf mask or something equally absurd.

"No one's ever played _harder_ to get with him. Edward's absolutely right about you, Bella Swan. You really don't see yourself clearly. You're a force to be reckoned with, young lady."

I shook my head, still not really believing him.

"Yes, you are. And you remember that when you go toe-to-toe with Aro. He's scared shitless so don't let him convince you otherwise.

"Alice says he'll be relieved that Edward isn't around because Edward might hear something in his thoughts to give him away. And it seems he doesn't know exactly what Alice can do. He's of the impression she needs to be near someone to see their future.

"I've never met him, but I think I understand his game. He won't be overtly hostile, just passively-aggressive until he feels he can convince his supporters to do his dirty work.

"He wants to be a bad guy without giving the appearance of it.

"Right now, we hold all the cards. _You_ hold all the cards."

"I'll keep reminding myself that but I'm nervous as hell."

"That's normal. If you go into a situation like this and you're not nervous, you're a fool. And you, missy, are no fool."

"Thanks for the pep talk."

"Anytime, little sister." He indicated the bunker below us with his chin. "What do you think of this hole?"

"I think it's where she was changed."

"Me too. How much of that stack of letters and journals inside the house have you read?"

"Enough to know that she was changed because something went wrong. My guess is that Tristan slipped and had to change her to cover it up…which is going to set me back convincing Edward that sex isn't life-threatening. If he bit her while they were getting it on, I'm so _not_ screwed."

He chuckled. "I hope he wasn't that stupid. Maybe he wanted to change her and didn't want her to wake up from the change angry so he pretended the bite was an accident."

"Ooooh. That _would _be sneaky and just what I'd expect from a rake like him."

"Who do you think the girl is?"

"I remember Carlisle mentioning that Tristan had a girl with him when they met. Carlisle assumed it was his mate, but what if it was just his sister or something? Maybe his pretend-mate is the third…Jake's new girlfriend."

"I hadn't thought about the girl with him back then. We need to get caught up with Jake after the Volturi leave and then we'll know for sure."

He pointed at the hole. "Tonight we're going to close this up. You want to look around before we do? I'll keep watch for you."

"I'd love to."

"Be my guest." He handed me the extra flashlight and motioned graciously towards the most inhospitable quarters I'd ever seen.

When Sophie finished changing, she would have woken up in a pitch black hole in the ground. That had to be disconcerting, to say the least.

The tiny bed, barely more than a cot, was still down there. The walls were just dirt with stones stacked and mortared in place. Some of the stones had words etched into them.

I held my light up to them.

Jasper's voice floated down to me. "We were afraid that the words on some stones might go with the ones close by so, rather than reassemble this somewhere else, we'll just leave it until the Axis Powers leave."

I snorted. "Aro is Hitler?"

"More Mussolini, I think."

I could see that much of the handwriting matched up with the clear script from the journal that must have belonged to post-change Sophie.

"Jasper, I don't think Tristan was successful if he was trying to make sure Sophie wasn't angry when she awoke. Some of these etchings are her handwriting and, the more illegible the handwriting, the angrier its tone."

Jasper nodded and chuckled. "I don't know of anyone who woke up happy."

My head whipped back to look at him. "You've changed people? Does that make you someone's 'father' or something?"

"I never did the changing; I was just responsible for keeping them in line soon after they awoke."

"Did you do something like this with them?"

"Yes and no. No because we would find a place as far from humans as possible—this is too close. Newborns wake up thirsty and it's near impossible to control them once they smell humans. As many houses as there are close by, I'm guessing this thing was sealed off. I don't think anyone would change someone here on purpose. This was improvised."

"That makes sense." I continued scanning the walls for words or phrases that stuck out.

"Here's a list of names. I don't recognize them."

_**Clemence**_

_**Angelina**_

_**Elizabeth**_

_**Genevieve**_

_**Lucia**_

_**Georgiana**_

_**Emma**_

"Who are these people? Some of their names have been crossed off the list."

Jasper turned from his watchman's stance to look at the names. "I haven't seen them before. We can ask Edward and Alice if they recognize them."

I moved on.

Some notes were left in masculine handwriting identical to that on the loose note.

He was leaving notes that seemed to suggest the recipient had been sleeping. Sophie didn't sleep; they weren't for her.

They weren't just notes. They were…nursery rhymes? Yes, nursery rhymes. And poems. Next to a few notes in his script were less-controlled copies of the words.

They looked like a handwriting exercise.

My first thought was, again, Sophie. She mentioned that she'd not had enough control to write without ruining the paper or the pen. But the poor penmanship here looked as if the letters were unfamiliar to the writer. They began the letters at odd places, as if they hadn't ever thought about where to start writing an "a."

Across the room from the bed were some drawings very low on the wall. Between random scribbling were a childlike tree, a sun and a four-legged creature that looked like a dog or a horse. They reminded me of the things Renee would attach to the refrigerator with colorful magnets or send off to Charlie with a careful note of explanation, "This is a horse Bella drew for you," as if a grown man couldn't identify a well-drawn horse.

Mine were not well-drawn. Neither was this one.

My palms began to sweat and my hairline tingled. I searched the walls frantically.

The same name, over and over. Some versions were more legible, some higher on the wall. And some of the poems were in the new handwriting, now that I'd noticed there were more than two.

When I looked up at him, Jasper had turned again and his eyes were narrowed at me. "What have you found, Miss Bella?"

I hated being the first to have an idea. Articulating my vague notions wasn't easy but it helped clarify them for myself too. "I have a theory. But, first, has anyone taken pictures down here?"

"Yes. Alice did around eleven this morning, when the light actually got in here a little bit."

"I think a child was in here."

He looked at me apologetically. "If they were, they didn't last long…they were probably…."

I held a hand up, grimacing. "No. A child was here at different stages. She's written her name and some poems and practiced her handwriting."

"Why would Sophie keep a child down here?"

"I think Sophie _had_ a child down here."

Jasper chuckled. "Who was strong enough to do handwriting exercises by etching letters into stone? I doubt it. I think Sophie might've changed someone else—possibly Jake's girlfriend—and kept her down here. If she was illiterate when she was turned, she'd have been a quick study and it would've been something to keep her occupied.

"But Sophie didn't birth a vampire. That's not how we come to be."

My shoulders slumped in disappointment. I'd have to go back to the drawing board. "It's not an option? At all?"

"No. Listen, Bella, if you want to have children, you and Edward need to have this conversation now. I'd rather not be the middle-man in this particular situation, you know?"

"I'm not asking because I want a baby, Jasper. I'm asking because of what Sherlock Holmes said."

He smirked. "You believe Mr. Holmes knocked Sophie up? Wouldn't that make for an interesting, if indefensible, thesis?"

"No, smart-aleck. He said, 'When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, _however improbable_, must be the truth.' I think we are eliminating everything but a vampire baby."

"You don't understand. We cannot procreate. It was so heartbreaking to some females that, centuries ago, they turned human babies just to try and have one of their own. The tiny monsters were beautiful but unable to mature or be controlled, ravaging humans for fun. The Volturi had to step in and execute all the immortal children; they forbade creating any new ones. Disobedience was punishable by death...still is."

"Have you ever _tried_ to make a vampire baby?"

As soon as the question was out of my mouth, I regretted it.

"Uh, yeah. A couple of times…not many."

I wanted to not laugh at him. But before I could help it I was shaking, no sound coming out, as tears poured down my cheeks.

"Bella, when two vampires really love one another…."

"You know what I mean!"

It was Jasper's turn to laugh. "I am very familiar with how babies are created and I'm real sure I _don't_ know what you mean. If there are new ways of doin' it—no pun intended—I'd be most interested in hearing about them. I might even be interested in an instructional video or two."

"Could you just pull that slab back over me, please?"

"Not 'til I hear about how all the cool kids are doin' things. What the hell did you mean?"

"I just meant, like, artificial insemination or whatever the vampire equivalent is."

He chuckled again. "Oh. No test-tube vamps. If that were an option, Rosalie Hale would be first in line."

"Of course. And I'm sure Carlisle would know a little about the subject. When Aro leaves I'll ask. That doesn't mean it couldn't be a child, you know."

"That's true. I'll concede that not knowing how to make something doesn't mean it can't exist. Until I met Mary Alice Brandon, I would have never thought such a creature could be possible.

"You know that she became a vegetarian without help? And she woke up alone? My life would've been a different beast altogether if I'd known that someone like that would exist one day. She made me believe in…hell, she made me want to erase my old life just so I could deserve a new one with her."

"Jasper, you're gonna make me cry again."

"Get up here so I can take you home, girl. You've got a big couple of days to prepare for and Alice went all out for dinner."

I hoped like hell that Jake got back soon to help me with the fridge full of food.

* * *

I'd tried and failed over dinner to convince Edward and Alice of my pregnancy theory. They were all so adorable, sitting in front of empty plates making conversation so that I didn't feel conspicuous as I ate.

I took a long pull of my water. "I maintain that Sophie and Alistair have a daughter named Genevieve."

Edward chuckled. "It's a sound theory, love. And Genevieve, if that's Jake's lady-friend's name, did have some warm, non-romantic thoughts about Alistair. But, even if vampiric procreation were a possibility, Alistair wouldn't be the most likely candidate."

"Maybe they raised her and turned her when she was of age."

Jasper snickered. "What is the vampire age of majority in the United Kingdom?"

Alice shook her head in silent apology for her husband mocking me. She liked my theory but agreed that Alistair was "no one's Daddy."

I snorted.

* * *

Edward and I were in my room, going over the checklist for the fifth time while the other two covered the evidence of our research that we didn't want to share.

"I will call and check in with the school again tomorrow. Alice will turn in your homework—"

My mouth dropped open and I panicked. "I had homework? What do you mean? It's definitely not finished."

"It is finished. It was just a paper on Shakespeare—child's play for you, love. You've had enough to worry about and I promise that you will not be behind when you return to school. I would feel very guilty."

"You should feel 'very guilty.' I like my classwork. I'm one of those weirdos who enjoys writing papers."

Through his smirk, he quipped, "I'll make sure to require a rewrite when we return. I will be very strict when I mark it."

He winked and my heart flopped around, flailing at the merest hint of innuendo from him.

I liked where this might be headed but I couldn't tell if he'd meant to tease me. "Maybe we could find a way for me to earn some extra credit?"

"You don't need extra credit. Your grades are just fine." He _definitely_ hadn't been flirting with me.

Leave it to him to be obtuse only when I _didn't_ want him to be. This day had been so stressful, so full of frightening possibilities and even scarier certainties. A little levity wasn't too much to ask, was it?

I tried again. Before I spoke, I pouted just a bit and sighed.

At least he looked concerned; that meant I had his attention.

I bit my bottom lip as I'd seen Vivienne do dozens of times and his mouth zeroed in on it. I leaned forward too, making sure he had more to look at than just my eyes when my dress fell away from my skin. Bent over at the waist, I was certain I'd given him a view to my navel.

Lowering my voice, I spoke in a breathy whisper so that he'd have to lean forward to hear. "I'm not worried about my university marks. I'm concerned with my grade on the essay you will take your pen to. Maybe I could stay after class to make up for the low grade on my essay. I think I could be more in this class than just an 'F.'"

He swallowed as if something were stuck in his throat. But he didn't take his eyes off mine.

I didn't want to lose him so soon. Maybe I'd pushed too far with the "F."

"I'd do _anything_ for some extra credit." I needed a pigtail to twirl.

If he played dumb I would kill him. Cheerfully, with my bare hands.

"I think we can arrange something, Miss Swan. You are a bright young lady. Did you have anything in mind?"

_Dammit. No, I don't_. "Maybe I could bake you some cookies."

_What? _I was tanking.

He leaned back in his chair and stroked his chin thoughtfully. "I don't like sweets."

"Oh. A bottle of Scotch?"

"Never touch the stuff."

I stood between his knees, my thighs pressed into his inseam. "What _would _you touch, Mr. Cullen?"

He put a hand in my hair, grasping me securely and leaning forward. "It would have to be something…hot."

"I can do hot." I hoped I could, at least.

With my favorite smirk, the one that made my toes curl, he said, "I believe that."

The door was locked; I'd made sure of it myself. Jasper and Alice were sealing off the underground bunker and generally cleaning up. Getting me ready for tomorrow was assigned to Edward.

I was fairly certain a proper send-off qualified as "getting me ready for tomorrow."

Edward hadn't yet moved but he hadn't protested. I squeezed a knee between the chair arm and the length of his thigh. I did the same with the other so that I was straddling his lap, but not sitting on it. My skirt was now pushed up so that it barely covered my derriere.

Edward loosened his tie and unbuttoned his top button.

"You tell me when it's hot enough, Professor. I'm at your mercy." I sank down into his lap and kissed him.

I don't believe that Edward meant to bare my bottom. But the fabric was slinky and I was perched atop him precariously. It didn't take much for the skirt to slide over the fullest part of my backside. Since he couldn't hold on to me through the silk, his hands ended up grasping my rear.

_"Your limits are my limits."_

Remembering what he'd said, I pretended not to notice him flinch with surprise. It was much harder to play dumb when a finger traced the top of my barely-there knickers from one dimple to the other. His fingers continued to skim over the sensitive flesh there as he kissed me.

Running my fingers through his unruly mop felt sublime; it made my eyes want to roll back in my head. He could be so distracting without even trying.

His mouth traveled down my neck and I arched it back to allow him all the access he wanted. My whole body shifted and I felt the friction of my center over his.

He growled, low and distant in his chest.

Was that a limit?

He hadn't said anything about this being "hot enough" or just plain "enough." I didn't slow down.

He'd kissed his way to the neckline of my dress—which was nowhere near my neck—and his nose was between my breasts. I felt one hand slide under my dress to anchor itself firmly in the center of my back.

I wanted to call a timeout so that I could do a victory dance because the other hand was sneaking over my hip, the curve of my waist and my ribs. After so long that I thought he'd given up, he cupped my breast in his palm. Instinctively, I leaned into the touch and rubbed myself against him again.

A tiny shot of heat made me do it again. I wondered if it felt as good to him so I looked up and did it again.

The rumble in his chest didn't sound quite so distant this time.

Still, he didn't say "Uncle."

Now, I looked for reasons to move against him. His hand became more familiar with me—moving across my stomach, my hips, my thighs. On one lap of my torso, he moved the cup of my bra aside and brushed lightly over my nipple.

I'd behaved very well until now. I was ready to move forward.

I whispered, "Again. Please."

He did.

And he didn't take his hand away.

He stood, scooping me in his arms as he did, and moved to my bed. Stretched out beside me, he continued the assault with his fingers. When one hand slipped under my skirt to my hip, I heard myself moan.

I could feel him playing with the lace. Finally, it felt as if he snapped his fingers and one side fell open.

"I'll replace them; I promise."

"Whatever you'd like."

There would be but one reason to rip them off—well, halfway off. I struggled to breathe.

A tentative stroke across the now-unobstructed skin above the apex of my thighs confirmed that hypothesis. Was he going to?

His eyes were wide. "Bella. If this isn't alright with you, tell me."

"This is so much more than 'alright.' It's amazing. Really."

"Good…I'd like to try something."

I nodded, unable to make a sound.

He moved his hand over me tentatively at first but definitely in the right place. After a few sweet strokes, I pressed into his digits, dying for more contact.

My hands fisted into the comforter.

Once he found a rhythm that made me writhe and mutter, his thumb began tracing scorching circles that made me cry out.

He carefully removed his lips from the hollow of my neck. Instead, he teased a nipple through the silk of my dress. I flinched, though it didn't hurt.

The pace and pressure increased, building until the knot of pleasure he'd caused unleashed. Lust-drunk and vibrant, every tiny movement he made left aftershocks that rippled through me and I wanted to catalog them, keep them permanently. Or at least remake them soon.

He never slowed until I came down, filling me with euphoria until it was just a drip.

Even when he stilled his movements, he didn't remove his hand. I'd always felt sealed-off from the world when I was in his arms but this moment was even more intimate, in ways I hadn't imagined.

I pulled his mouth to mine recklessly and shuddered as he pulled his fingers away.

"That was amazing. Where—" I cut myself off. I didn't need to ask where the motivation to do that came from. I knew that bit of trivia, so I left it alone.

"I wish you could see what you look like right now. Your cheeks are pink; your lips are swollen and red. Even your hair is sexy. You are a fantasy embodied and somehow you're mine. I will never understand how that is possible."

"You're the one that's impossibly beautiful. I'm just the lucky one who gets to ogle you regularly." I reached for his belt.

He leaned his forehead to mine. "I think that class is adjourned."

"But I want to—"

He put a finger over my mouth. "Please don't finish that sentence. Please. I think that was…commendable."

"'Commendable?' I didn't just get a Scout ribbon."

"I think you got your 'ribbon.'"

I chuckled wryly but I was still irritated. "You know that's not very nice. I mean, you could spontaneously combust any second now and it would be your own fault."

He exhaled and spoke to me patiently. His forbearance was infuriating. "What would you have me do, Bella? At what point should I end something like this? Maybe _before_ I wadded your dress around your waist like a…"

My voice was low. I felt dangerous. "Before you wadded my dress around my waist like a what?"

"I was going to say a 'libertine,' but I felt silly and old-fashioned. And I would never use that word in this context. I will never put my hands on another woman like that so it doesn't apply. I just—"

"You were doing so well. I don't understand."

"I don't want to wonder if I would hurt you, and that point was rapidly approaching. And every time you moved your hips or made some little noise, it undid me a little more. I think I _am _in danger of bursting into flames.

"This professor would've given you far more than just an 'F,' if that's what you were looking for."

I blushed and grinned broadly.

"But _you_ didn't…" I stumbled.

"I don't think I'm quite there yet. But now I have an idea of what to expect from you so I feel better about this working."

"So I'm just a research project now?"

"One I could pour myself into." He kissed the bridge of my nose. "I don't know how I'm going to leave you tomorrow."

"You're not 'leaving' me; you're protecting me. You can't be here when Aro arrives and that's that. Besides, you have an errand to run."

He smiled wistfully. "I do. I'd wanted this to be a surprise."

"Proposals are never _really_ a surprise. Angela found her ring while she was doing Ben's laundry and had to wonder for three months if he would ever ask. It's not like people don't know when they're at that place in their relationship."

"That's true. But I wanted something more romantic."

"We're alone in a place this grand, in front of a fireplace, with you looking like _that_…and you want _more_ romantic? I'm not sure my heart could take it, Edward."

"I hadn't thought of it that way."

"Besides. All I want is you."

"And I, you."

"It's settled then."

* * *

We went over the timeline that Alice had seen until I was dizzy.

I said goodnight to Jasper and Alice before settling into bed beside Edward. How was I ever going to fall asleep without him? It was more than just stroking my hair or my shoulders, it was that definite weight causing a dent in the mattress that made me feel secure.

And so, when I awoke in the middle of the night to an empty bed, a not-so-concave bed, I was surprised. But I could hear the shower running and knew it would be Edward. My door was open and I could see the bathroom door ajar; no one else would be more concerned with hearing me than their own privacy.

The only light came from a tiny night-light in the stone wet-room, presumably for my benefit since I was the only one in the house who might need it.

With his back to me, I saw the faintly lit outline of Edward, water streaming off him. His head was underneath the spray and he was leaning against the wall with one hand. Before I could make out where the other hand was, or ask if he needed another, I forced myself to creep silently back to bed.

I made Edward, Alice and Jasper promise that the goodbyes would be short. I told Edward that lingering gave the other four time to notice weirdness and would seem inappropriate for a quick trip to Forks to retrieve his mother's diamonds and speak to Charlie.

In all the excitement, he had avoided bringing up his intention to ask my father's permission. He promised to keep things light with my dad and all I could do was hope for the best. I wasn't a kid anymore. I imagined Charlie's response to Edward would be something to that effect.

* * *

It was very early when Edward came to wake me. Their flight left at half past four in the morning so he wouldn't even let me get out of bed.

He kissed me deeply and I felt a pang of panic in my chest. "Promise me you'll be safe, Edward."

"Me? Really?"

"Yes. Just say it for me."

"I promise. I love you and I'll see you in less than forty-eight hours."

"I love you, too."

Alice and Jasper walked to the doorway. She tiptoed over to embrace me. "He'll be good, I promise."

Jasper winked, "If he's not, I'll call right away to tattle."

Edward crouched by me again. "I'll call when we touch down in Seattle."

If our timeline held up, he would be arriving in Forks about the time Aro arrived here. The four vampires staying with me would need to be able to think of Edward on the other side of the world.

The lack of numbers here would also make Aro feel more secure.

"Please do. I'm missing you already. Hurry up and leave so you can get back already."

"Consider it done."

One last kiss and he was on his way, leaving me so I could be safe.

* * *

_**Author's Note:**_ I think twenty-two chapters and a prologue is long enough for any good girl to hide her citrus. I promise to let you back into the stash soon.

Please let me know what you think.

In the last couple weeks, Katinki and HKP Jen have sent legions of kind readers my way. Thank you so much, ladies. *flutters lashes* Your very kind words made me blush and I love widening my circle of conspiracy. And to all those who made the trek over here, I hope you are enjoying.

Clem, I've noticed a shortage of Plein Soleil fic. If you could get a finger in that leak, I'd be much obliged.

Danni, I'm outrageously jealous. I can't be cute when I'm so jealous. We'll talk when you get your lass back to RL.


	24. Chapter TwentyThree

_Disclaimer: The Twilight Saga and its characters belong to Stephenie Meyer._

* * *

The house was full of people. _I'm not alone. I'm not alone._ It was a mantra I repeated against the haziness of my anxieties.

I tended to fold into myself under stress and facing Aro without Edward at my side was so much more than stressful. The day stretched out before me, dark and heavy with unknowns and seemingly without end. Just a few shapes—figures in the distance, really—stood out against the mist. I knew Carlisle, Esme, Rose and Emmett wanted to help me, but despite their good intentions I had to tread carefully. They had to remain ignorant enough of what had gone on here in their absence to have Aro touch them tonight. We couldn't risk him hearing anything to indicate that we suspected him.

The hope of seeing Edward again was the fixed point of light that kept me on course.

I cracked my eyes open. The white stationery on my dresser bore witness to my mantra. Esme was inviting me to breakfast. How could I resist?

I sat up and shoved my feet into my shearling-lined slippers. One foot encountered the crunch of paper. I lifted the slipper to my hand with my foot, falling to my backside in the process.

_Good morning, Cullens. Bella is awake._

While I was down there, I read the note.

_You're going to have a bruise. Sorry, I'm not kissing it._

_I left a tablet by your toothbrush. Swallow it with some water and eat soon after._

_Tear this up and flush it when you pee._

_~Alice_

It was too early for this but I played along, only because I was certain I would regret not being cooperative later. I shuffled to the bathroom, brushed my teeth, swished with water, swallowed my nasty horse pill, followed with water, peed and flushed the ripped-up note. In that order.

I hoped that Alice had to watch me pee in order to orchestrate this series of events and I stuck my tongue out.

* * *

I walked down to breakfast with a chip on my shoulder.

Emmett decided to try his hand at cooking. His wife watched from the outside patio, occasionally peeking over the top of her glossy fashion magazine.

"You like eggs, Bella? I think I can fry one without too much fallout." He was already warming the pan and pouring hot water into a mug.

"That sounds great, Em. I'll start on some toast. Just one, though." I wasn't really into talking before the caffeine hit, so I worked silently in the kitchen, dropping the bread in the toaster, plopping it on a plate, buttering it evenly. I adjusted my tea while my egg finished.

"Hand me your plate and I'll slide your bacon and egg on there."

"Slide it on my toast. You're about to see something special."

He laughed, handling the spatula and slippery, over-easy egg like a seasoned short-order cook. "Bacon-and-egg sandwich?"

"Mmmmhmmm. And sharp cheddar." I put my plate on the counter and pulled the cheese from the fridge.

Emmett held his hand out for the cheese.

I waved him off. "It's okay; I'll get it."

Rose looked up from her magazine, smug. Evidently they felt I could not handle kitchen instruments unscathed. Whatever the reason, it was too early for her cattiness. While I was distracted, Emmett took the cheese and the knife. He cut two slices before I could object.

My "hey" was too little, too late. "What the hell?"

"I'm not allowed to let you touch sharp stuff."

So I gathered. I wanted to growl. "So, I need to put a different cheese on my sandwich?"

He didn't get the joke; Rose did. She sauntered inside like the answer to my daily request for a swimsuit model to watch me eat every meal. It could be my new diet plan.

I slapped the two pieces of cheese and bacon on top of the egg before replacing the bread.

She sat on the counter by Emmett as he cleaned the pan and handed him the rewrapped cheese. "Edward left us instructions to keep you from hurting yourself in his absence. They were more specific than that but I think you can imagine what he had in mind. You already fell once…."

She trailed off as she stared across the kitchen island at my breakfast in disturbed fascination.

I nodded tersely and bit into my abomination of a sandwich, letting the yolk run out the sides.

Rosalie's lovely features curled around the edges, clearly disgusted by my gushy, smelly food. I dredged the crust in the yellow puddle on my plate before I took another bite. I winked at her as I sank my teeth into the toast.

She laughed, despite her disgust. It reminded me of the look on Renee's face when I spilled red Kool-Aid on the frou-frou Easter dress I'd objected to years ago, on the grounds that I was too old to dress like Shirley Temple.

"Maybe you will fit in, Isabella Swan."

I nodded again and kept on eating. I might not have been as chatty as Alice or striking as Rosalie, but I could hold my own when I needed to.

As I finished up, Carlisle and Esme slipped into the room.

Esme kissed the top of my head as a greeting and offered, "More tea, Bella?"

"Please, ma'am."

Carlisle smiled warmly and sat on a stool next to me. "Good morning, Bella."

"Good morning. How are you?"

"Very well, thank you. I hope you're not nervous about my old acquaintances coming to visit but I'd guess you probably are. Am I right?"

I took a calming breath before I answered. "I'm sure they've had years of experience around humans but it's hard to know how to behave around someone who's more likely to think of me as a meal than a person."

"How about I tell you some stories about Aro and what has gone on in Volterra? Maybe that would make you less nervous. The unknown is so much scarier than something you are at least a little familiar with. And he really has done some amazing things as a vampire."

"Sure. It certainly wouldn't hurt."

Esme placed my mug of tea in front of me. "You don't have to be here if it makes you too nervous, Bella. I keep telling these men that you are still unfamiliar with the world of immortals and this is not an inauspicious introduction."

"I'll think about it, Esme." If only it were that simple.

Rose piped up. "I'll take her somewhere if she changes her mind. Aro would be disappointed if he didn't get the pleasure of meeting Carlisle's wife. He'd barely miss me."

Carlisle had the decency not to look flabbergasted. "Thanks, Rosalie."

I, on the other hand, did not.

"What? I'm not fond of taking away your humanity but it's as good as done. I mean, it's like losing your innocence—once you know what the world's really like, you can't get it back."

She looked at Carlisle. "Now that she knows about us and she's in love with Edward, there's no sense in pretending she can go back. She's been too exposed to our dirty world.

"As far as I'm concerned, the mistake was made when Edward decided to involve himself with a human. But we can't leave her unprotected now and imagine she'll be okay. Every vampire within a day's run would swarm to see what we were so interested in the moment we walked away.

"She's been marked."

I was pretty certain Rose wasn't as well-informed as I was about Carlisle and Sophie. But she knew, like the rest of the Cullens, that Alistair was supposed to watch over her. In the context of knowing what happened to Sophie, Rosalie's words sounded like a veiled accusation. Poor Carlisle must have at least felt the stab of having to leave her under someone else's watch, but he never flinched.

I fought to keep my own face even. "Thanks for the support, Rose. It does mean a lot."

She offered me a tight smile.

I wanted to say something to acknowledge how surprised I was by her attitude but wasn't sure what exactly. I didn't know how much Edward had told her that I knew about the circumstances leading up to her change. Of all the Cullens, she missed her humanity the most and I was certain watching me turn away from my own offended her.

Carlisle's phone buzzed and reminded me that I'd left mine on my bedside table.

"I left my phone upstairs. I'll be right back."

No missed calls.

I huffed on my way back downstairs.

"You know they make you turn those things off on a plane, right? He'd much rather be on the phone with you."

"I know, Emmett. Thanks, I guess."

I sat back down on my barstool. "Do we know when to expect Aro, exactly?"

Carlisle answered me. "That was Demetri who called me. They'll be here around eight. Are you comfortable with having them in the house? They'd like to come here and I said I'd call back if it was a problem."

"That's fine, I guess. What do you do at vampire reunions?"

Rose and Emmett were unsuccessful at suppressing a laugh entirely. Esme smiled broadly.

"Not too much, sadly. Aro and I will have a lot to catch up on, but his end of 'catching up' doesn't take long, as I'm sure Edward has told you. I'll show them Alice's new place here. No one has met my Esme, or Emmett and Rosalie. And Aro loves anything novel so you will interest him immensely. Just that our family is vegetarian will interest him immensely.

"After that, I don't know. He hasn't left the walls of Volterra often; I'm flattered he's coming to visit."

* * *

The rest of the day was a blur of getting the house ready and getting me ready. Esme began arranging flowers and tidying up as soon as I left the kitchen after breakfast. When I got out of the shower, Rosalie was sitting on my bed waiting for me.

"Hi. I'm not really dressed for company."

"That's why I'm here. There's an unspoken dress code to these weird vampire gatherings and you're a Cullen now. I don't want you to feel out of place and I definitely don't want them wondering how a human would ever be interesting to someone like Edward."

"You could just tell me the rules once I'm dressed."

She smiled, her version of a pity laugh. "Here's your robe."

I wrapped it around me before I dropped my towel. "What do I need to know?"

"It's more than knowing. You need a manicure, a pedicure and your hair will need some taming—it's lovely, but it needs some direction. And we'll buff your skin so it doesn't look so dull. It's pretty, for a human, but we can do better."

"I thought this was about the dress code, not my personal hygiene."

"I know you think I'm catty and vain. You haven't seen anything until you see vampire women outside of our family. They think of humans the way you think of a pet—cute, maybe, but definitely below them. I'd like them to have to look twice to make sure you aren't a vampire. It will give you a mental advantage and throw all of them off. They are expecting you to be a mess. That you aren't will work in our favor. Think of it as donning warpaint; I do."

"I see." I considered what having Rosalie on my side entailed. She thought like a military commander, not a swimsuit model. I'd underestimated her.

"I'm not very girlie. This won't end in me looking like someone I'm not? Or, worse, be the vampire equivalent of a more appetizing presentation?"

She rolled her eyes. "No. Aro will meet you and be more concerned about the potential for the one mind Edward can't read to translate into a gift as an immortal. Draining you would be too wasteful to justify. We're just polishing you up so that you don't stick out. And you'll never be comfortable if I put you in pink and frills. I don't want anyone to get embarrassed; I'm _not_ Alice."

I smirked. "Can I at least choose my own undies?"

"Wait until we pick out your clothes. And I don't want you wearing a bra until then, either—it will leave red marks across your shoulders."

* * *

At half past seven, Rose decided I was fit to descend the stairs.

She was correct. I looked like myself, only without a stray eyebrow or uneven nail. My hair was glossier, perfectly tamed. I had on very little make-up, with the exception of my eyes. They were dramatic and smoky.

Apparently, vampire skin was unkind to makeup, especially eye makeup, and it would make me stand out. The liquid that spread over their eyes when they blinked was venomous and quickly ate away at liners and shadows.

Dramatic seemed to be the theme for glossed-up Bella. Until now I'd avoided wearing a striking blue dress that Alice had added to my closet. It had one shoulder and fell to the floor. In fact, I had to wear heels to keep it from dragging. Rose said that I could choose something in a shade of "shrinking violet" if the blue didn't suit me, but I should at least try it on.

She was right. The dress suited me.

Emmett abandoned the charcoal gray suit jacket he was about to don and wolf-whistled as I carefully navigated the stairs. "Edward Cullen is gonna be so jealous that he missed this. I'll remember this a dozen times a day just to torture him. Nice work, babe."

I felt my cheeks pink up.

I noticed that Rose made sure he got the memo about the dress code. The cuffs of his crisp, white shirt were closed with dark cufflinks and his vest had a chain that appeared to be attached to a pocket watch. He looked more traditional than I'd expected but it suited him.

The color across my cheeks wasn't lost on Emmett. "Oh! Even better! He thinks it's sexy when you blush. Now he'll _really_ be pissed."

Esme's floated down the hallway in a warning. "Emmett…."

"What? It's Bella's fault. She's 'so hot, she's makin' me sexist—'"

Esme wasn't as sweet with her second warning. "DO NOT SAY ANOTHER WORD, EMMETT."

"Yes, ma'am."

I snickered.

Carlisle and Esme walked into the great room. They knew about the dress code, too. Esme wore a purple, square-necked gown with a ruffle on her cap-sleeves. It was more feminine than my mostly unadorned column of silk-satin, but it suited her perfectly.

But it was Rosalie who stole the show in a red and black halter dress. The back dipped so low, I expected to see her knickers. Somehow, I never did.

_Oh. Good form, Rose!_

Emmett whistled again. "Who's the luckiest guy on the planet? That'd be me."

Esme and Rose gushed over shoes and jewels and our dresses but I couldn't think past my worries. All the buffing and tweezing and preening had occupied me enough that I hadn't been able to dwell on my fears but now they were making up for lost time.

Rosalie took my hand and smiled determinedly. "You haven't stressed over this all day. Don't start now."

She'd been multi-tasking, keeping my mind occupied with my day-long makeover and I'd never even noticed.

Esme tucked a giant red rose in Rosalie's low, side-swept bun. She looked like a flamenco dancer.

Just like any parent, Carlisle offered, "You three are show-stopping. We should take a picture so Bella can send it to her parents back home. I'll be right back with the camera."

We snapped a few pictures and Carlisle was absolutely correct. My parents would be over the moon to see them. We finished up just as our company arrived.

Carlisle walked to the door. Apparently requiring your vampire guests to knock was tacky.

"Carlisle, my old friend. It has been too long."

"It has, Aro. It has. Jane, Alec. So nice to see you again. Do come in."

He allowed them to enter, all six of them, and was by Esme's side before the door closed, it seemed to me. "This is my wife, Esme."

They definitely outnumbered us.

Esme smiled warmly and invited our distinguished guests into the great room. The introductions continued as we made our way there.

"And my daughter and son, Rosalie and Emmett."

Rosalie gifted them with a hint of a smile and a slight tilt of the head. Emmett smiled and nodded before he said, "Nice to meet you all. Carlisle has so many great stories about Volterra."

Carlisle extended a hand to indicate me. "And this is the newest addition to our little family, Isabella.

Out of habit, I said, "Just Bella. You can just call me Bella." Rose had advised me that human reactions were too animated and the equivalent of shouting to them. So, keeping my feet planted and my hands at my side, I looked to each of them in turn and offered a slight nod.

Edward and Alice had prepped me. I already knew their names.

I also knew that the formality of offering them a seat was just that. Vampires had no need to sit and I would be the only one sitting if I chose to do so.

Jane was tiny. She dropped the hood on her old-fashioned cape as I looked her way. Until then, her childlike face—she couldn't have been much more than fourteen when she was changed—made me want to offer her a piece of Bubblicious or ask her about school. The shadow left her face, revealing carnelian eyes. I forced myself to maintain eye contact and succeeded in not flinching.

Beside her was Alec. His face was equally round with the last traces of childhood, but his gaze was even, almost friendly. His eyes were an illuminated red, like a jewel, as well. They'd just fed.

Renata did not acknowledge me with more than a quick glance. Of Aro's entourage, she was by far the most stunning. Her dark hair was a striking contrast against her pale skin. Her eyes were darker, like garnets, but still had a bloody glow. Willowy and tall, she bent into Aro as if she were offering shade from a scorching sun, and seemed almost unaware of anyone else in the room.

I wondered if that made for an awkward threesome in bed with his wife.

Demetri looked as if he knew exactly how flimsy my undergarments were, as if he were a connoisseur of such things, and I was glad Edward was nowhere nearby to confirm.

I barely acknowledged him and moved my eyes to find Felix already staring at me, as if he recognized me. The expression of sorrowful curiosity made me wonder what he was thinking and I smiled at him ever-so-slightly.

Aro smiled as he appraised me, his fingers tented in front of his chest. "I would call you Bel-lah even if it weren't your name, child. You are a lovely human. Those big, dark eyes! I do miss blues and greens and browns. She will be a devastating immortal, don't you think, Carlisle." He acted surprised. I was nearly certain it was an act so that he could interrogate us. "I'm not speaking out of turn? She will…"

"Yes, she will be a striking immortal. Although my son, Edward, would be hard to convince that she could be more beautiful."

"Ah! _L'amour._" He sighed dramatically. Like quicksilver, he dropped the simpering and became businesslike. "Carlisle, you've met Jane and Alec—they're so dear to me. This is Demetri," he said, indicating the blond man to his left. He had replaced his contemplative expression with a neutral one.

"And Felix." The Goliath of a man nodded, still leering at me.

"And Renata." The beauty holding his right hand never acknowledged the introduction, except to continue looking through me.

Edward said that Renata shielded Aro from harm. I wondered how that worked—would an invisible wall go up if I ran at him?

"Carlisle, you have such a lovely family here. It is just as you've always imagined—all happy, mated and only consuming animals. You must be so…proud."

Carlisle nodded. "You would know—about what I used to imagine and about being proud of your family. I'm sure you know the kind of warm feelings I have for my children, having helped so many adjust to this life yourself."

Reaching out a hand as if he wanted to shake Aro's, he offered, "I hate you've missed Edward and Alice and Jasper. You should meet the rest of my family as well."

The papery lips parted and Aro clapped like a child. "You do know what I love more than anything, Carlisle."

He dropped Renata's hand and took Carlisle's in both of his, closing his eyes thoughtfully.

After thirty seconds or so he opened his eyes and looked at each of us. "You have a special family, indeed, Carlisle. My gift is interesting but Edward's is so…convenient. To be able to hear without touching is fascinating. And Alice, keeping you out of trouble with her foresight. Just amazing that these talented children found you!"

"We are so proud of all of them, Aro. They've made my life so full." Carlisle beamed at Esme and then the rest of us. "Edward will be home soon. He'll want to come to Volterra, I have a feeling, and you two can compare notes."

"A visit from Edward and Bel-lah would be so special. Please tell him I would love it so.

"Your newest addition, Bel-lah, she is special too, I gather." He looked at me and I felt my cheeks redden. His over-enunciation of my preferred name made me reconsider "Isabella" or "Izzie." It made me feel like an unfamiliar item on a menu in another language. He seemed to become more familiar with it after every use and I wondered where that would lead.

Emmett snorted. "Yeah. She's pre-trained in the destructive arts."

Rose elbowed him.

Aro seemed inordinately interested in Emmett's joke. And then it dawned on me; he wasn't certain it _was_ a joke.

Esme gave Emmett a warning glance before addressing Aro. "He is teasing our Bella for being a tiny bit clumsy. A few dishes have fallen victim to her but, compared with all the flooring I've replaced courtesy of Emmett, she's not even in the same league of destructive powers."

Rose snickered, her delicate fingers inadequate for covering her amusement at her husband being put in his place by sweet Esme. I couldn't help but smile as well.

She caught my eye and asked if I'd like a drink with a gesture.

_Hell, yes._ I tried to look as frosty as she did when I nodded. She walked to the bar and began mixing some complicated concoction—squeezing, straining and shaking—and the commotion seemed to interest our Italian visitors. I always forgot how many normal human activities were simply things they heard about or saw only on occasion.

Carlisle spoke up. "Certainly she is special to us, Aro. Edward can't hear her thoughts but beyond that, we just won't know." He shrugged as if he neither knew nor cared.

I wanted to give him a pat on the back and say, "Attaboy!"

Aro leaned his head to the side in contemplation. Faux-contemplation, I believed. "I'd like to propose an innocuous little experiment. Just a simple test, really. Maybe _I _could hear her. My gift seems to work differently from Edward's."

That was my cue, the one I'd been waiting on for days now. I tried to look disinterested and bored, as if the outcome of this pop quiz were of no lasting interest to me, and focused my attention on Rose. She sashayed over with my drink and I took a long pull without noticing more than a cold tinge of citrus and a solid base of berry.

"You'd have to ask Bella."

Of course, we all knew asking was a formality.

He asked anyway. "Might I have a listen, beautiful girl?"

Jane sneered at me when he called me beautiful. _Jealous, much, darling Jane? _I was grateful Rosalie's efforts made me feel confident enough to smile back. And that they gave Jane a reason to be miffed.

"I'd be delighted, I'm sure."

"You have nothing to fear from me, child. This is just for fun."

"Very well." I stepped forward cautiously, as much the fault of the death traps on my feet as my trepidation about touching Aro. With a clatter, I placed my drink on the monogrammed silver coaster that had miraculously appeared on a side table. I hated that he could tell I was nervous even though I was trying not to be. In my favor was the fact that the most innocuous—and likely—slant on the situation allowed for me to be afraid in a room full of predators.

His hands clasping mine felt fragile, like porcelain, and powdery. He closed his eyes. After a second he held my hand a bit tighter.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he let go.

I knew I should back away. Instead, I put both my hands out to him. "Edward and I tried a few different things when we were testing whether he could hear me. Maybe more contact would help?"

"It certainly couldn't hurt."

Renata moved forward, as if she expected a trap, and Jane looked exhilarated at such a prospect.

"And I tried very hard to think something to provoke him, something that would be very…loud, for lack of a better term, mentally."

"Oh, how delightful. I love your idea!"

I laughed nervously as he held my hands to his chest, pulling me a step closer to his torso. And his teeth. "I'm concentrating very hard."

He waited a few seconds longer, or maybe the proximity of his mouth made it seem longer, before he dropped my hands in disappointment.

"Nothing?"

"No, dearest. Your mind is a fortress, it appears."

"I like your explanation better than my own."

"And what is that?"

"I thought something was missing—that my mind was defective somehow."

He tapped his mouth thoughtfully with his ancient fingers. "Quite the opposite, I think, my pet. If you are game, I'd like to try something else." He was looking over my shoulder at Jane before he'd finished the thought.

Rosalie took two steps away from the bar, looking down from her extra ten inches or so (Mary Janes were nowhere near the prop Rose's Louboutins made) as if she were wondering what to do with the roach carcass she clearly deemed Jane to be.

The child-like hired-gun raised a pale brow before looking back at me. The trace of glee ghosting over her closed mouth was infinitely more chilling than Aro's bared teeth.

Before any of the Cullens could start a losing fight, I intervened. "She'll turn it right off? And start slowly?"

"I wouldn't have it any other way, Bella. We are doing this for the sake of learning, not torture."

Carlisle eyed me significantly. I nodded at him and he put a hand over Esme's arm.

"Hang on to this lovely drink, Rose. Just pour me a shot of whisky, please."

Aro threw his head back and a peal of childish laughter rang out across the large room. He looked every bit the maniac I'd imagined. The sadistic villain in a Gothic horror story. A child waving a loaded pistol.

My fear was genuine now. Alice seeing Jane fail at hurting me didn't make this any less a game of Russian roulette. Even Carlisle seemed to realize that Aro was not here to say "welcome, neighbor." He was here to piss on our mailbox.

I tossed the generous slug of liquor back, never tasting more than the burn.

An appetizer, I thought grotesquely. Just a hint of what could come.

"Jane." I imagined that _I _was the one whoheld the power to make her crumple to the floor, writhing in pain, and a slow smile crept over my face. My brow arched.

She knew she'd been had; I made certain of it.

Aro was mesmerized by the obvious tension, as if he were watching a soap opera. The Cullens were held back by the barest whisper of self-control. Esme even had a hand over her face.

I was still taking stock of the reactions when it occurred to me that Jane had already begun.

Her sadistic smirk had melted into a painful grimace.

Finally, she exhaled, glaring murderously at me.

I moved back towards the side table and my drink. I picked it up and held it to the light. It was beautiful, a clear martini with a pour of a dark red liqueur down the center and a lemon garnish. I took a second drink and realized that it was delicious. "You're a fantastic mixologist, Rose."

Her mock curtsy was as much to put Jane on notice that the Cullens had won the first round as it was to acknowledge my compliment.

Jane whispered something too low and fast for me to understand.

Rose addressed her and Aro. "I think we've played enough with the human for tonight." She smiled at Jane one last time before draping herself over the arm of the chair nearest Emmett.

"That was fascinating…simply amazing. You are most engaging, Bel-lah. I am extraordinarily anxious to meet you as an immortal. So many talented individuals have been inside these walls."

I ignored the end of his comment. "And I would love to visit Italy. It sounds as if we have a date."

Aro didn't give up so easily. "The promise of gifted immortals makes my heart sing. Losing Tristan and Sophie at the same time…such a shame. Being here makes me think of them."

Carlisle didn't know about Sophie's fate—Aro had already seen that much—and now he was fishing to see if any of the rest of us did. I tried to look confused and then took a keen interest in my expensive heels.

Carlisle broke the awkward silence that followed. "It has been so many years since I've been home, Aro, but I'd love to be your tour guide while you're here. Is there anything you'd like to see this evening?"

Aro barely considered the question before answering. "I haven't been to Stonehenge in so long. I would love for you to tell that story again, with the props in place."

Esme raised a brow.

Carlisle shrugged lamely. He looked like a young man for a moment and not a father-figure. "I was a bored newborn and moved the stones."

She gasped.

"I put them back the very next night. But someone saw…I'm not going to ruin it. I'll tell the rest when we're there."

Aro looked at me. "You will come with us, won't you, Bel-lah? I could be tempted to ride in a car if you accompany us."

I smiled gamely. "I wouldn't be able to sleep until I heard the rest of Carlisle's tale. And Jasper has all these conspiracy theories about vampires manipulating human affairs and Stonehenge is on his list, so I'd love to have something to hold over his head. Of course I'll tag along."

It was out of my mouth before I realized what I was saying. Aside from my purposeful baiting of Jane, it was my first real misstep of the evening. With an unsteady hand, I brought my martini to my lips.

Aro never acknowledged my comment.

Emmett, on the other hand, had no idea that I'd just told Aro that one of us was interested in his sideline, even if I didn't say we knew it was his. "Yeah, he also thinks Texas should be an independent sovereignty, possibly ruling Mexico as well. And he plays the piccolo."

_He does?_ I couldn't wait to see him again. I giggled uncomfortably.

My stomach contracted in pain. As quickly as it began it went away. My first thought was to look at Jane. She wasn't even paying attention to me.

Carlisle, however, _was_ watching me so I wiped the grimace away. I could feel cold sweat on my neck.

Rosalie walked two fingers up her husband's jacket. "Lover, you watch Sponge Bob…Jasper nurses conspiracy theories. Tread lightly."

Emmett was quick to defend himself. "There are some seriously relevant socio-political issues dealt with on that cartoon."

Rosalie rolled her eyes. "I'm sure. But they spell 'Krab' with a 'K' and burp too much. That doesn't scream 'intellectual' by any stretch of the imagination."

Another spasm of pain twisted in my gut like a knife. It went away quickly but left me feeling nauseated and chilled.

Carlisle murmured something unintelligible to Aro and scooped me up. He'd carried me to Edward's room, the closest to the stairs, in a heartbeat. "Are you hurting?"

My stomach churned audibly. "I just feel like I want to throw up."

"I'm going to get some ice and a rag. You're starting to sweat and I can hear your stomach switching gears into reverse."

Rose whispered, "I'll get it."

She disappeared and Carlisle put a hand over my forehead. "You don't have a fever. What have you eaten?" I knew what he didn't want to say out loud. It could be nerves or shock from my confrontation downstairs. It was kind of him to not say so and make me look like the scared human that I was.

"Not much." He witnessed breakfast and I had some leftovers around five-thirty, before putting on my dress. I'd been drinking lots and it must have kept me from feeling hungry.

His phone buzzed and he looked at it. Shaking his head, he pushed my hair from my face and kissed my temple lightly. "You've eaten something bad; Alice just texted me. You'll be fine but she says you're going to start throwing up in a few minutes. I'll leave you with Rose and Emmett if you think you'll be okay."

His fingers were racing over his Blackberry.

"I can do vomiting on my own. Go."

He stroked my arm consolingly. "I'll talk to Rose but she would know what to do without my instruction; she'll take wonderful care of you. We'll see you bright and early in the morning."

I squeezed his hand. "Be safe, Carlisle, and give our guests my apologies."

"Thank you, Bella."

He stood motionless for a moment, obviously listening to me. When he moved away, I saw Esme hovering behind. "Good night, sweet girl. I'm so sorry we're leaving you like this."

"Don't worry about that. Just make sure you're back in time for breakfast."

She looked like she wanted to say something else—didn't we all, at that moment—but just put her cool lips to my forehead.

"You guys are better than an ice pack."

I remained very still, wondering if I could avoid throwing up. A few minutes after the doors shut and the sightseeing vampires had exited the vicinity, Rosalie peeked her angel's face in.

"We need to get you out of that dress. It's vintage Halston or I'd just let it ride. And you can't fall asleep right now."

"I would still die if I ruined a dress of Alice's, even if she could replace it in a New York minute."

I leaned forward and she made quick work of the buttons down the side.

Her hands stilled and she stopped unbuttoning me. "Bella, this dress is yours. Alice would swim in this. Not to mention the fact that this color was made for you and I'd insist she hand it over to you immediately."

"I'll never wear something like this again."

"You can wear it at your engagement party that I'll throw back in Forks or to some benefit for Carlisle's hospital. Or the opera…we'll think of some reason for Edward to see you in it."

A velvety voice floated in from the hall, caressing my ears. "Have I missed the show already?"

Rose stood and I thought she winked at me. "I'd say you're just in time, you lucky thing."

I wanted to jump into his arms and bury my face in his shoulder. I could feel hot tears pooling.

Rose shut the door on her way out and I could barely see. I felt his hands on my face, cool and soothing.

"I'm so sorry…I needed you to think I was gone."

Tears were pouring down my cheeks. I hadn't realized until he put his arms around me how afraid I'd been. "You were under the garden temple, weren't you?"

"It worked for Sophie." He was already dabbing at my cheeks with the sheet.

I could feel my stomach churning angrily again.

"We do need to get you out of that dress quickly."

"Just a minute." I leaned back against my pillow and Edward put one cool hand across my forehead and another under my neck. He moved his hand out of the way to kiss my forehead.

He muttered something that sounded like, "Damned Alice."

I opened an eye. "It got me out of the vampire field trip so I'm good with being violently ill."

"Not that. But I certainly didn't expect to find you so sick. She taunted me in London with this vision of you in a blue evening gown, stretched across my bed, using my hand as an ice-pack of sorts. It escalated from there."

"I love Alice."

"Your dress, Bella. And you have to get up and move around for a little while."

I sat up again on my own and slipped my arm out of the one-shouldered dress. He deftly slid an oversized man's shirt over my shoulders before the silk could even hit the mattress. I stood and the dress dropped to the floor.

I couldn't see well in the darkness but I knew what I was wearing: a man's button-down, six-inch heels and runway hair.

Edward put his hands on my waist. "You should step out of those heels, as much as it pains me to ask. I'll tell Alice that they are yours now and buy replacements."

I wanted to revel in my Cinderella moment but I was about to toss my pumpkins.

Edward was enough of a prince to hold my hair through the entire ordeal.

* * *

I'd never in all my life presented so many offerings to the porcelain god. Two hours and about two dozen laps of the hallway later, I was nursing a glass of Pedialyte and curled up in front of the great room fireplace while Rose and Emmett regaled Edward with tales of my heroism and Aro's fishing. They were more entertaining than true.

"I wanted to draw-and-quarter that little freak. Not to mention that she and Alec look like they should be teaching a community college class on Incest 101. There's no way she's ever had sex with someone outside her shallow gene pool."

I made a pretend retching noise and immediately regretted it. "Stop. You're activating my very responsive gag reflex. And making me laugh, which makes my head throb."

Edward looked at me apologetically. He was about to grovel again. "I'm so sorry about the ipecac. If she'd asked me, I could've thought of something better."

"If you say you're sorry one more time, I'm going to banish you to Forks. Besides, the Chambord hid the color and odor perfectly. I'd bet none of them even suspected."

Rose defended Alice. "I never noticed it until I checked the bottle after she'd texted me. I think even Carlisle bought the food poisoning. He made me promise to clean out the fridge while they were gone."

Edward relented. "Fine. No more apologizing for now. But you do need an IV, something else I'm about to hate. Rose can do it while Emmett and I go check out the grounds if you'd like. I'd rather not be here for that."

I agreed, and a few minutes later they went to see if Aro had sent someone to watch over them in his absence.

Rose distracted me by talking as she started the IV. "I know that from where you were sitting, facing down Jane must have been scary as hell. But can I tell you just how much I enjoyed the look on that smug bitch's face when you didn't so much as acknowledge her fire voodoo? Thank you for showing out tonight. That took some serious balls."

I barely felt the tiny pinch of the needle. "Alice said she wouldn't be able to hurt me."

She fiddled with some tubing and tape. "That's what Edward said, and I figured as much when I saw you cock an eyebrow at her, but you never _know_ until it happens. It was a sound bet but nothing's guaranteed."

I was attached to the fluids before I knew it. "It was the same thing with Aro. She saw that he couldn't hear."

She shook her head and a throaty chuckle escaped. "And she couldn't tell us because Aro _could_ hear us. I love it. This bag of fluids will drip slowly. You hadn't eaten much and were pretty dehydrated even though Alice preloaded you with that pill this morning to make you want to drink lots of fluids all day."

"Thanks. I barely felt a thing. The whole evening was a big show for Aro's benefit. I don't even think Edward was quite ready to propose; he said he would go get the diamonds because he needed a reason to leave and this just snowballed. He hasn't even asked, not really. Did you know that? Everyone keeps talking about us getting married and he hasn't asked." My breathing was suddenly shallow.

Rose patted the pillow so I would lean back. "Let me tell you a story about Edward Anthony Masen Cullen. After that awful night I was attacked, I went through the change with Carlisle, Esme and Edward watching over me. They kept me safe, made sure I couldn't hurt anyone while I learned control and taught me how to hunt without putting people at risk. They made me part of their family and I never had to ask for a thing.

"When I finally saw myself, I looked like this shining angel. I'd been a pretty human and dealing in the currency of looks was my way. As an immortal, a creature whose beauty was a trap by design, I was convinced that I should be able to have anything. Anyone able to see me should fall head over heels, and it never occurred to me to worry over a detail so insignificant as whether or not I cared for Edward. He _should_ have wanted me even if I didn't want him.

"I didn't learn until later that Carlisle and Esme had hoped we'd fall in love.

"He was polite but kept me at arm's length. He never did capitulate. Even when I brought Emmett home, he never acted jealous—of me or of our having found one another.

"So, believe me when I tell you that he is not doing _anything_ out of duty. He loves you madly, Bella. Don't doubt that."

She cocked her head to the side thoughtfully.

"I don't believe in 'soul mates' or any of that mystical nonsense about love. But there's something to be said for choosing well and serendipity.

"There are too many options today: a thousand boutiques at the click of a mouse, more books than a vampire could read in their ridiculously long life, a magazine or TV station for every hobby and persuasion of thought. Humans are as easily confused as we are distracted.

"But it boils down to some simple questions. Do you want to be with him forever? Was it _his_ hand you wanted to hold when you went toe-to-toe with that slimy son of a bitch and his little she-demon? Is it _his_ body you imagine, _his_ voice you want to whisper to you as you drift off to sleep?

"If it is, then don't worry about whether or not he wants the same thing. _You_ want it and you can't spend your lifetime mired down in wondering if you should or shouldn't.

"He would never lead you on if he didn't love you. And he's had that damned ring in his pocket for a solid month."

I was crying in earnest, wiping hot tears from my cheeks.

She deadpanned. "I'm pretty sure that's a ring in his pocket. If it's not, you _do_ have something to cry about."

* * *

I awoke in my own bed with Edward beside me. I didn't remember falling asleep or being carried to my room.

"Good morning."

I cracked one eye. "Good morning. What time is it?"

"Eight. I've brought some breakfast up."

I cracked the other eye. Pancakes. Good choice.

I checked for my IV tubing so that I could sit up without yanking on it.

"I took it out last night. You aren't attached to anything now."

Shuffling into the bathroom, I was not familiar with the raccoon-eyed girl who greeted me in the mirror. We glared at one another as we brushed our teeth. It took a few tries to get all the black off our faces.

I crawled back under the covers silently; I just didn't feel like talking. Edward brought the tray over and handed me a mug of tea.

He let me take a few bites before he said, "I still need to go to Forks and talk to your Dad."

"That's not necessary. The cat's out of the bag now—everyone should understand that getting a ring was a farce."

He looked confused. "No, not so that they think I'm in Forks, but because I really want his blessing. He deserves to be able to look me in the eye and hear me promise to treat you like my own flesh. I want to give him that, as much as I'm taking away."

Rose was right; I couldn't even remember what made me doubt him in the first place. I pressed my syrup-covered mouth to his.

When I pulled away, I said, "Whenever you want to go, you can."

"Then I will leave as soon as possible. Would you like to go with me? I've chartered a plane for a few days from now. Well, Alice has, and I'd love to speak to your father soon. We can even stop and see Renee, if you'd like."

"But there's so much going on here. Are you sure we should do all that?"

"I think you'd be surprised how much is going on in Washington."

What could possibly be going on stateside? I racked my brain until it hit me.

"She's with Jake? In La Push?" I wanted to jump up and leave without putting on proper clothes. I could wear pajamas on a chartered jet, couldn't I?

"They aren't yet, but they will be. Carlisle's letters to Sophie have been moved from Allesworth and he thinks he knows where they might be. In fact, he's almost certain that they are in Edinburgh, since that's where he stashed the letters we found here. We'll fly to Forks from there."

"Sure. Who's coming with us?"

"I thought we could try going alone…unless you object."

* * *

**Paris, 1690**

It had seemed so easy, as if I were extending a dinner invitation instead of asking him to stay in my home. Words are so mutable and fleeting when spoken; it is almost as easy to say them as not.

It is their effects that are so lasting.

As I boarded the tiny boat for England, I prayed I would arrive home only to find Allesworth cold and empty. I hadn't told Uncle William to expect me. I hadn't even written the staff to prepare for me. I could start a fire and had breakfast in my bag.

Perhaps my guest would send his regrets and lessen mine.

* * *

_**AN:**_ Yes, you read that correctly. The seventeenth century just found itself a new narrator. Carlisle is _so_ 1689.

I'd like to deliver a giant "thank-you" (which I normally do in the buff) to feathers_mmmm for sending so many lovely readers my way. I can't tell you how much I'm enjoying all the new company.

Also, "Metaphysics" has been nominated for a Rare Gem award in the category of "Most Surprising Plot Twist." If you are interested in voting (please do; so many stories you're probably reading have been nominated) the link is in my profile. You can vote once a day until the voting closes.

The theorizing on the "Metaphysics" discussion has escalated recently and they have already gotten it right more than once. I'm sure they'd love some new faces in the back of the Mystery Machine.


	25. Chapter TwentyFour

_Disclaimer: The Twilight Saga and its characters belong to Stephenie Meyer._

* * *

**Allesworth, 2009**

I showered and dressed quickly, in a hurry to pack and leave for Scotland. I was very excited to be going to another country, even if it wasn't that far away, and wrapping my head around all we might find made me more excited.

"One more time: why do we need to get our hands on Carlisle's letters and poems? If he wrote them, he remembers them, which means you remember them."

"There could be a clue there. The letters we found under the cellar stairs were the ones Carlisle originally stashed in Edinburgh. But he hid both his and Sophie's letters there, and only Sophie's letters turned up at Allesworth. If his are missing, it's possible they're still in Edinburgh and obvious hiding spots have equaled new information every time we've checked them out."

"How long will we be there?"

"Just three days."

He looked as if he had absolutely nothing to hide, which told me one thing. He was definitely keeping something from me. I wasn't yet sure what, but I would find out.

Carlisle and Esme were very sweet saying goodbye to us. Even more endearing than their genuine concern was their brevity. I just wanted to be somewhere, anywhere, alone with Edward.

I didn't realize exactly how much I wanted it until he closed my car door and walked around to the driver's side. I could almost literally taste freedom.

Edward stopped too often for my taste. It seemed he wanted me to see every sight in England and Scotland.

After our fifth stop on the side of the road to check out the scenery, I huffed audibly.

Edward looked at me, confused, as he shut his door and restarted the engine. "Are you in a hurry to get to Edinburgh, Bella?"

"Yes."

He double-checked, which made me smile. "You're not being sarcastic, are you?"

"Good grief, no. I'm tired of sharing you with half a dozen people who can sense our every move. I just want to be settled in for at least a few nights alone with you."

I felt the car accelerate. "I can certainly oblige, Miss Swan. We still have a ways to go, though."

To keep me entertained, he told me some of the interesting things he heard while underground at Allesworth. Most of them weren't something you had to be a mind-reader to get but the details were fun and kept me from dwelling on exactly how fast we were going.

Aro and Renata _were_ sleeping together, though not with Mrs. Aro. Felix thought I looked like a member of his family he vaguely remembered from his human days, hence the mournful staring. Jane had an unrequited crush on a nomad and, between the heartache and the embarrassment she felt, the only thing that kept her from killing me was Aro's order not to. He wanted to recruit me but also hoped I might be a reason for one of the Cullens to do something punishable by death.

And Aro _had_ been using his band of merry men to influence human governments for centuries. I couldn't wait to hear Jasper's thoughts on the matter.

Most of the kings of Europe from the seventeenth century on, in fact, had unknowingly harbored vampires in their courts. Many of them were long dead, executed by Felix when they learned too much. The trick was—and this hurt Carlisle even more than Edward thought it would—Aro had been trying to find a way to plant a few vampires in among the humans for decades until he met Carlisle.

All they had to do was avoid eating humans. It wasn't easy by any means, but it was possible.

And that was one more reason Carlisle's family made Aro so nervous. They fit in among humans so much more effectively than his monster militia.

He'd been pretty quiet, barely involving himself with humans recently, but had a big project on the horizon.

Edward was conspicuously silent on the subject of Demetri.

* * *

After noon, we passed a town named Carlisle and the sign on the outskirts of town indicated that we were close to Gretna Green, which made me think of Austenian eloping, which made me think of weddings, which made me think of wedding nights, which made me think of my own wedding night.

I continued to stare silently out the window long after Gretna Green faded in the distance.

What was it about eloping that was so romantic? It was kind of the Regency equivalent of running off to Vegas. But I loved the idea that it required no one but the necessary parties: a bride, a groom and someone legally able to do the ceremony. Did they even require witnesses anymore? I could make do with two strangers.

If Alice kept her mouth shut, no one would even have to know.

About five hours after we left Allesworth, we arrived at a house south of Edinburgh. I knew why we weren't staying in town and I didn't mind any inconvenience that left Edward's mind less full of interruptions.

More for me.

"While we're here, I'm going to change into something," he looked at my fleece yoga pants and French terry top apologetically, "more business-appropriate."

I racked my brain for an ensemble to wear.

"Alice slipped a few items into my garment bag for you."

"If there's something in there that would work, you could just grab it for me. I'm not going to be picky now."

His eyes lit up. Who knew making him happy could be so simple?

The cottage was perfect for our purposes…well, my purposes. It was small enough that I knew no one could stay with us. From the bedroom window, I couldn't see the next house, though I could see smoke rising from what I assumed was someone's chimney. We were alone at last.

I slipped into the skirt and blouse that Edward handed to me. A pencil skirt and sheer blouse weren't my usual style but they clearly worked for the man picking out my clothes. The heels were definitely out of my comfort zone but at least I'd recently practiced walking in them.

Edward was waiting for me in the hallway, my coat in hand. "We'll go into town and do some legwork before dinner, unless there's something you want to see before the sun sets."

"I want to know what the hell is going on way more than I want to sightsee."

He held out my jacket so that I could slip my arms in the sleeves. When I turned back around, he'd planted one arm on the wall over my shoulder and leaned his face to mine. I backed into the wall and pulled him with me by his belt loops.

He murmured into my ear. "I don't know if I can conscientiously take you into public looking like that."

"So you approve or have I done something atrocious like wear the skirt sideways?"

"I wouldn't care if it was on inside-out. I can't think straight if I look at you."

I loved the compliment but I knew I had a finite number of seconds left before he'd had enough and I wanted to make the most of them.

After a few moments, he pulled away as predicted. "I really want to stay here but we need to get to Edinburgh."

"I'm not in a huge hurry…."

"Well, you should be. You've missed hours of lectures today and we'll just make it in time to hear one last presentation about idiopathic hypertrophic subaortic stenosis as a cause of sudden cardiac death in adolescents."

I was puzzled for a moment, wondering why that cheeky grin wouldn't leave his face. We weren't even studying medicine or causes of death in school.

But lots of other students were. "Are we crashing a lecture?"

"We're not 'crashing.' I paid the late registration fee and we are attending as students. Which we both are."

"Yes. But not _medical_ students."

"I _have_ been a medical student."

"Well, I haven't. What if someone wants to talk shop with me?"

"I promise to keep you all to myself. We can hide in the library until most of them clear out."

I couldn't think straight once he mentioned keeping me to himself in the library. There was something about a giant room with dozens of dark nooks and crannies where you were supposed to be quiet and not disturb anyone that made me want to do just the opposite. Edward and I had spent so many hours being well-behaved in libraries. What I wouldn't give for just one hour of _mis_behaving….

I wanted to send Alice an engraved note of thanks for the librarian get-up.

* * *

Since hiking and heels would not be a healthy combination for me, Edward dropped me at the Queen Street entrance of the Royal College of Physicians. The façade was surprisingly low-key, as if it had been a residence once upon a time.

Some occasional, spotty sunshine forced Edward below ground and he promised to meet me inside in fifteen minutes. He didn't say where but, as soon as I saw the sign inside, I knew where he would have to find me.

I walked to the Cullen Suite, stifling a giggle.

The Royal College of Physicians had begun meeting in the late seventeenth century, according the tri-fold pamphlet I picked up. They moved into the late Greek Revival building in 1845, though the Cullen Suite was named after a William Cullen who became the president of the RCP in 1773. Even more exciting to me was the well-appointed library in-house.

I imagined pen-chewing flirtations and making out between the shelves to break up the monotony of studying. Why wasn't the University library in London so inviting?

"Interesting reading, Doctor?"

I turned to glare at him. "Actually it is, sir."

He pinned the nametag to my blouse carefully. "You know, you can call me 'doctor' if it makes you feel better."

I bit my lip to stifle a giggle and pulled him closer with the button placket of his shirt. "I think that my ideas about playing doctor and yours are very different."

"Maybe we can reconcile them later."

"Not now?"

"No. Definitely not now. We need to familiarize ourselves with this building. Maybe we could start with the library? It's empty now but I overheard someone talking about preparing it for an event later this evening."

"I like libraries." This was quite possibly the lamest sentence that had ever been ejected from my lips, even in the event of an emergency.

"You're so flushed that I'm afraid to ask why 'I like libraries' caused that kind of response."

"Have you _seen_ the library here?" Mercifully, I was pretty sure he thought I was still referencing the impressive nature of the books it housed. Why couldn't I tell him that just the thought of doing something naughty in a library made me incoherent?

Whatever my sorry reason for keeping mum, not telling him was a step down a long road of hiding the things that might make him uncomfortable. It was a step I didn't want to take.

I whispered. "Librariesmakemehot."

His eyebrow twitched. "This is a new development?"

"No. Sort of. What I mean is, it has been developing but it is now well-developed. Like definitely out of a training bra." It took conscious effort on my part to not fidget.

"I can see the draw and we _have_ spent more hours locked away in libraries than most couples. Maybe we can spend some time amongst the tomes here that isn't business-only."

My throat instantly felt parched. "I'd love that."

"Carlisle left a box hidden in a hallway off the library. Would you be interested in taking a stroll down there now?"

I grinned and took his hand. "Yes. Yes I would."

We'd been in the library for all of thirty seconds when Edward abandoned me.

"Looking for something specific…" a pair of dark eyes dropped to my nametag, "Dr. Cullen?"

I almost snorted when I realized someone was addressing _me_ as Dr. Cullen. Caught up in all that library-fantasizing, I hadn't bothered to look at my identifier.

The gentleman who'd approached me seemed nice enough—sandy hair, rimless spectacles that he adjusted repeatedly, eyes fixed well north of the general vicinity of my falsified badge—but he might as well have been coming at me with a knife. I didn't even know what section of books I was currently browsing.

"No, thank you. I'm really just admiring the room at large." Vague, check. Polite, check.

"It is a lovely library."

"Do you work here?"

"No. I _have_ been sent here for work. In fact, I was doing very much the same thing you were: taking in the scenery." Was I part of the scenery?

"Oh. You asked if I were looking for something as if you worked here."

He seemed to understand my confusion. "Of course. A book about _the_ Dr. Cullen is just over your shoulder and I was about to have a look. But if you'd wanted to read it I could certainly wait."

"No. I didn't have my eye on anything in particular, so make yourself at home."

I waited for him to walk away. He didn't.

He cleared his throat and looked around nervously for a moment before it registered. The book he wanted was behind me. I blushed.

"I'm so sorry. Let me get out of the way." In my embarrassment, I tripped and fell into him. He smelled nice, at least.

"Are you alright, mademoiselle? I shouldn't have…." He righted me and pulled his hands away quickly.

"I'm perfectly fine. And there's no better place to injure myself than at a gathering of so many physicians."

"Yes. I'm sure one of these pediatric cardiologists would be able to wrap an ankle." He looked down at my ankles and his eyes widened. "Those heels are beautiful."

"Thank you. My fiancée picked them out."

"He has discerning taste…and I have no manners. My name is Sebastien." He extended a hand. After the embrace a few seconds ago, it felt stilted but polite.

"I'm Bella…Cullen." My nametag occurred to me at the last possible moment. I returned his handshake. "It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, sir." I never spoke so formally but something about this polite man who blushed as easily as I did made me want to observe all the conventions. They were a thin shield from the slings and arrows of a modern world but I felt protective of him now that he'd been kind to me.

"Are you enjoying Edinburgh?"

"I've only just arrived, but so far, yes. You?"

He smiled and ran a hand through his sandy hair self-consciously. "I am, though I haven't had the opportunity to do much in the way of sightseeing. Jet lag and work isn't a cocktail I'd recommend."

"Not even with a lemon twist?" What a lame joke.

He choked on his pity-laugh. "I think the twist of lemon might make it more palatable." His face would go up in flames soon, I feared. Were his glasses fogging?

I spied a volume of poetry about a foot above his head that I knew I couldn't reach. "Could I use your reach for a moment?"

"Certainly."

"I'd like that brown book that says 'Allesworth' on the spine."

He plucked it from the shelf with no problem. "Thank you."

I squeezed past him and we went our separate ways after a few more words. I settled into a seat to read. What had I just found?

I flipped through and quickly realized that my book was a bust.

It was a written history of the grounds, not the poems I'd hoped for, but I feared it was only useful to me as a novelty.

Edward reappeared as I closed the dusty volume. "We have them."

That was so much easier than I'd anticipated. I smiled, a night without responsibility stretching before me. "Let's go, then."

"I have booked us a table nearby for dinner."

I masked my disappointment with a tight-lipped grin. "Thank you. Where?"

He looked too amused not to know I was disappointed. "Here."

My grin blossomed into the genuine article. "Are we the reason that the library is booked this evening?"

"It has been 'booked' for over a century, I think."

His bad pun got a dry chuckle. "Reserved. Have you reserved this library for us tonight?"

"I have. Unless you'd rather we went elsewhere…."

There was nowhere I'd rather be. A movement across the room caught my eye and I looked up in time to see my new friend Sebastien walking towards the door.

He winked at me when our eyes met.

Edward chuckled and whispered, "He hopes your evening is finished with a lemon."

I could feel my features scrunch. "He really likes garnishes."

There was more quiet laughter as he walked to the doors to close and lock them.

* * *

**Allesworth, 1690**

The house glowed warmly. I hadn't expected it to. I'd imagined echoing emptiness would await me at Allesworth since it was what I'd left behind in the vacuum of Carlisle's conspicuous absence.

Hazy tendrils rising snakelike into the night from every chimney told me that the fireplaces were lit and recently stoked. All the windows framed tiny tongues of flame rising from candles.

While the scene surpassed my every expectation, I couldn't help but feel some trepidation. I was stepping into the unknown with Tristan when crossing the street to attend a Sunday sermon with him would scare me.

This was not wise. I should ask him to leave.

But I wouldn't; I knew I wouldn't.

This rendezvous was more than a year in the making—I'd almost capitulated dozens of times—and pretending to walk away now would only delay the inevitable.

How many more times could I bend under his command in a darkened corner just barely out of view before we were caught? I could reason with myself ad nauseum and never behave in the manner I consistently decided upon.

Something stronger than reason, stronger even than my hold over myself, commanded me in his presence. I would want him until he didn't want me to. The choice was not mine; it was his.

He was a libertine with no regard for me beyond making me a conquest. He was well-read, intelligent and a sharp conversationalist in public but this compulsion was not because of any of those things.

He didn't even care if I thought so. He cared only that I was under his spell.

It was close to midnight and I was freezing. Had I really knelt on the frigid ground outside? Had it really been two years since Carlisle left?

I could still feel the hard earth beneath me, see the clouds of my breath as I called to him. I wondered if he'd even heard me…if he ever thought of me. What would he think of this rendezvous?

I told myself over and over that this was not an attempt to return to what I'd had with Carlisle. I'd fought this with all my might.

But that was what it felt like—a chance to see what could have been.

My musings on Carlisle were cut short by a familiar rush of warmth and a tug in the pit of my belly. Tristan was indeed in my home.

Before I could speak his name, he was at my side.

"Your bags were left outside. I'll take them upstairs and unpack for you."

"No. I can do it myself."

He arched a brow and ran a cold finger over my cheekbone. "I'm not offering for your sake only. The fewer the minutes you spend doing menial tasks like that, the more of them you can spend at my service."

Unwilling to capitulate without any pretense of dignity, I pretended that something less than the earth opening up beneath my feet could remove me from his clutches. "Surely you know better than to waste such banter on me. That sounds like something Louis would whisper in a courtesan's ear."

He lowered the timbre of his voice and moved so close that I could feel his lips against the shell of my ear. "What would you prefer me to whisper in your ear, Sophia?"

"I am undecided." _Wasn't I?_

I hadn't known exactly what would happen if I gave in and went away with Tristan as he had offered so many times. No, that's not true. I'd understood why he would want to be alone, away from people who would recognize us.

The story was trite.

Pretending that I was a blushing innocent who didn't fully grasp why a man would want to be alone with a woman might be the only thing I could think of that could be more trite.

Even though I couldn't fill in the details—my own inexperience in this situation being the barrier—I knew the outline.

I mentioned in conversation that I wanted some time alone at Allesworth after the holidays. I knew he was close enough to hear. I asked for no details—how long he would stay, if he would come alone, if he wanted to go elsewhere.

"Are you certain you want to be _here_, Tristan?"

He laughed loudly.

"That was hardly a joke."

"Oh, but it was. Where else would I want to be?" He began slipping my heavy overcoat off my shoulders.

"There is nothing I know of that I want more than your company at this moment. _Your _intentions are the only question in my mind. I know you would rather it be someone else here with you.

"Are you certain _you_ want to be here?"

_No. _ "I am."

I lowered my face and busied myself with straightening my sleeves. He took my hands, they seemed to be in need of occupation, and grazed my fingers with his lips. I shuddered at the touch. Heavenly.

"Your journey was long and cold. Are you hungry? Thirsty?"

I nodded, my nerves still getting the better of me. Without letting my hand fall from his, he guided me to the dining room. At this point, it shouldn't have surprised me to see that the table was set. Wine had been decanted into crystal; candlesticks stood as sentries on silver pedestals.

Silently, he pulled a chair for me.

The lamb was made by the woman who usually cooked for Allesworth. I'd have known the taste anywhere, but sitting at home I placed it with no trouble.

Tristan poured a glass of wine for me.

"I wrote on your behalf to say you'd be stopping in with friends. You will call on her when you have need. I will make certain the house looks as if a party of six or seven have stayed here."

"Very kind of you."

His lips parted as he smiled, baring his perfect teeth. "Again, it's motivated by pure selfishness."

Feeling as if I were suddenly on the menu, I chewed on my lip. _You have a meal prepared, Sophie._ _No need to chew on anything else._

I brought the glass to my lips and his gaze became suddenly serious. My mouth on the crystal seemed to interest him.

An eyebrow twitched.

His scorching scrutiny suddenly meant something new to me. As his spell over me had become more and more exquisitely torturous, it had escaped my notice that I was powerful too.

I had no doubt that he was influencing me with something uncanny but I had an arsenal at my disposal, if I could but learn to use it.

"You enjoy the wine?"

_The most sought-after girls are seldom easily pleased._ "It's a pleasant enough vintage. I prefer it to be sweeter."

"And the food?" His lips curled up in obvious distaste.

"As hard as it might be for you to believe, the food is delicious."

I tried to pretend that he wasn't watching me like a hawk but his perusal unnerved and inflamed me. "If it is so distasteful to you, you don't have to watch me eat. It will not offend me to have supper alone."

"I think I could be persuaded."

"I don't understand." I took long pull of my wine while he pondered my meal.

I lowered my glass to see Tristan lean across the table and take my lower lip between his. It must have looked like a kiss, though there was no audience to confirm my suspicion, but it was not. He slid my fleshy lower lip in his mouth lightly, as if it might melt like candy, his tongue roving over it.

He suckled and I mewed.

Drawing his face back a few inches, he allowed, "It doesn't taste so bad when presented properly."

I was no longer interested in the lamb.

Finishing my meal would have been the better idea, considering my day, but my appetites had a mind of their own. They had shifted noticeably.

My longing to put my hands on Tristan had waxed and waned in the many months since we'd been introduced. I knew that he was not a man I could pretend would want me forever. My hold over him would shoot across his consciousness like a meteor in the night sky. It would blaze hot and fast.

But was that so much worse than being bedded by a man who wanted me only for my womb and talents in making his house a home?

Tristan would never object to my projects. He would never interfere. And this feeling, this hunger for a food I'd yet to put to my lips, would always mark his presence.

I looked at my half-eaten lamb. It seemed I was very fond indeed of hunger.

When I stood and walked towards the staircase, he didn't ask why. He followed, carrying the wine and a glass.

The scene that met me in my own room was fascinating. A fire was lit, making dangerous shadows dance across the walls and furniture.

My bedroom looked like a queen's room. There were hothouse flowers everywhere—flowers from my orangerie. The tub had been pulled in and was filled with steaming water. It smelled like petals and herbs.

I breathed in the heady perfume.

"The water is still too hot for you but it will cool quickly in this cold."

"I don't particularly want a bath."

I felt chilled skin meet mine at the nape of my neck. His fingers slid down my arms and over my own digits, puckering the flesh as they passed over it.

I turned to face him.

I expected to be confronted with his usual almost-smirk of self-assurance. It was not there.

"What _do_ you want, then, Sophia? You are more fragile than I am; this one night can happen at your pace."

"Not a soul calls me that."

"I am aware of that. It's what I call you. And you aren't answering my question."

"I am not certain what I want."

He looked disappointed but only for an instant. "And you are tired, no doubt. You have no maid. Can I do anything to help you before you go to sleep?"

I wasn't making myself understood. "Yes, I do want your help with undressing, but not because I have no maid. I know why I am here…with you…alone. I am inexperienced enough to be unable to put words to what I want. The steps to this dance are new to me; I will need some leading."

He gave me one more chance to demur. "Would you like some instruction tomorrow?"

"It's possible. But what I'd prefer is to start tonight and familiarize myself with the choreography."

"Your wish, my command."

He leaned down, his face closing in on mine, and I closed my eyes. He did not press his mouth to mine as I'd expected. He pressed his nose into my collarbone and slid his cheek outward towards my shoulder, sighing in the process.

Fear tempered my desire and I shivered.

His nimble fingers could have made quick work of my stays. Wondering why he did not infuriated me. Instead, he slid his fingers under each crossing of the laces and shimmied them loose, tormenting my rapidly heating flesh through my chemise.

He repeated the action until the garment was loose enough to lift away from me. Instead of removing my top, he used the room under the lacing to take my skirt off. With miraculous speed, he turned my skirts into a heaping pile.

I inhaled quickly in surprise as he lifted me out of them. I heard his soft, velvety laugh in my ear as he put me down.

"You have no idea how long I've wanted to do this."

_Already? I wasn't even out of my clothes._

He stood behind me and pulled my stomacher away from my body, ripping the thin chemise away in the process. I heard his sharp intake of breath followed by a longer inhale.

Curious, I turned to face him and his eyes were closed, his expression one of rapture. His gaze, when he opened his eyes, was black as pitch.

Instinctively, I crossed my arms over my chest.

He shook his head and put his hands on mine. The shock of his fingers grazing my exposed skin, even incidentally, made me dizzy. "I will make sure you never want to do that. You are exquisite, more beautiful than you know. Don't hide from me now."

I didn't have any words to answer him; I just knew that I couldn't bear to be unclothed only for the purpose of being an object upon which he could gaze.

I reached for his breeches. The undefined want that had teased and tugged at me, pulling my body in directions I did not want it to go since meeting Tristan, was growing ever more defined in my vision.

I realized that the desire hadn't been undefined. It always had an identity. It was a living, breathing thing that I'd kept too far away to make out. The closer the object of my want became, the more proximity I allowed it, the easier it was to discern the details.

There were some things that I could put words to now.

I wanted Tristan to wear that expression he'd worn earlier when he tore away my chemise—eyes closed, head thrown back—but I wanted to _make him_ look that way myself.

Tristan's frock coat and vest unbuttoned easily but I took my time. Close to his body, I couldn't feel his eyes roaming my naked flesh; I felt safer. His hands made up for the wandering his eyes could not do. They traced over every bare inch that they could find, beginning with my hairline and working down my neck.

I pulled his shirt from his breeches before unlacing them. When my fingers made contact with the cold skin on his stomach, he hissed. His hands slid from my collarbone down the slope of my breast.

He loosened his cravat and stepped out of his shoes before sitting down on the edge of the bed. He pulled me to stand between his knees.

I felt exposed and reconsidered. I could not rid myself of the instinct to run.

He held me fast, obviously looking me in the eye and waiting for me to meet his gaze. I hesitated, a protest in word only, before I gave in.

The words he spoke didn't just light upon my ears for me to consider. They slid over my skin, under its surface even, willing me to grant him more than he asked. "You're not going anywhere, little lamb. Do you think I could be convinced now that you don't want me? I don't think you could convince yourself…."

He brushed his lips over my belly, just to one side of my navel, and I tried to think of a rebuttal. I _didn't_ want to tie myself to a creature like Tristan, not with any permanence.

But I had wanted a creature like him. A creature just like him.

With that sudden confession, I tried to lean away from him but his grasp at my waist tightened.

He pulled, with more than his hands, and I couldn't go anywhere. His mouth was just inside my hipbone, making a faint, icy trail to the curve of my waist.

I wanted to walk away and tried desperately to let the memory of what I wanted motivate me to move.

It couldn't. Removing me was too arduous a task for such a faint recollection.

What I desired and what I knew I should desire were at odds and the former was winning. I had pushed the facts so far away that they were now the hazy outline on a horizon that I could barely discern.

Only what I wanted had a face now—a face whose beauty could stun me if it caught me off guard.

Somehow, my own free will had been taken from me. Or maybe it had been given to me, the gift of my deepest, darkest wants.

That I didn't know angered me. His manipulation of me was dark and delicious and wrong and set me off like gunpowder.

My hands reached for his loosened cravat, either end left carelessly at the opened neck of his shirt. I yanked hard, as if I were reining in an unruly horse. His mouth curled up in a smirk.

My stockings were gone in a flash, his hands on either of my hips and I was almost instantly bared from the waist down.

Of their own will—not that I had any control over them anymore—my fingers grasped at his dark hair. I could not pull him near enough. None of my tugging moved his face nearer to me.

His mouth lowered to my stomach and it felt divine, indirectly heating every bit of my flesh from my toes to my hairline. When his lips crested my hipbone, they began to descend to dark tangle at the apex of my thighs.

I felt cool air rush over my skin as he inhaled.

When he spoke, his mouth was pressed close enough to the flesh there that the vibrations from his voice sent chill bumps all over my skin.

"Have you ever been kissed like this?"

"Of course not. We both know you don't have to ask that."

"As you wish. I only ask because I want you to remember the answer. Has anyone ever done this to you?"

"No."

As he unbuttoned his cuffs to remove his shirt, he said, "Remember that, Sophia."

I pushed his open shirt over his shoulders.

I tried to move towards him, to push him back on the mattress so that I could slip his pants off, but he was having none of it. He stood and kissed my mouth, carefully holding his cool torso away from mine. His open hands kneaded and tickled, stroked and massaged until, eventually, I found my own hands doing the same thing.

If it made me throw my head back or groan, it must surely make him feel similarly. At first, I let him lead that way. But my body needed surprisingly little instruction, arching and growing warm under his hands.

His mouth teased my breasts and I felt an unfamiliar, though not unwelcome, sensation between my thighs.

There was no other word for it. I purred.

Tristan knelt before me, though his lips never pulled away from my skin as he descended. His thumb delved into the curls between my legs and pressed against the skin beneath. The white-hot feeling made me fear my legs would give way.

He smiled wickedly and spoke without lifting his mouth from me.

"You know you have not spoken my name in this room?"

"I…I—" _Why would we converse now? _

"Ssssssh. It's not a complaint. I think that this is the only way I will ever want to hear you speak my name."

I didn't understand but I couldn't be bothered with his nonsense. My fists knotted around his hair.

His thumb continued in a circuit and I wondered if I could stand much more torture. Something had to give way soon and I didn't know how.

He pulled his thumb away and I whimpered.

When his cold mouth took its place, I whimpered again. This time, my knees buckled.

Tristan put one of my legs on his shoulder and kept a hand beneath me for support. All the while, the ball of heat in the pit of my stomach kept growing. I felt as if I would combust soon.

My hips arched into Tristan and it happened, just like he said it would. I whispered his name, pleading, urging, insistent.

I felt his throat rumble in acknowledgement as a finger joined his mouth. I wanted to know what he was doing, how he was capable of making my flesh—the flesh I lived in every day—sing like this when I'd never known it to. Not that I would quibble over this mutiny.

The noises that escaped my mouth were distracting and made me self-conscious the first few times they boiled over. But as Tristan continued the excruciating pleasure, I forgot.

My heart could surely not run away like that for much longer.

I couldn't bear to make him stop. The need for him to continue eclipsed my mortal concerns and I leaned into him for more support as fingers of heat consumed me from the inside out.

The second time I said his name, it was no whisper. Just when I thought I could take no more, I grabbed at it like a lifeline and fell rapturously over the ledge.

It didn't save me from the delirious tumble nor would I have wanted it to.

Without time to recover, he lifted me up and wrapped my legs around his waist. His nose touched my nose; his forehead, my forehead. "There will be a sting, though not for long. But if you panic because it hurts we will have real pain to deal with."

He didn't give me long to ponder what would sting. Or why it might turn into something worse if I panicked. I felt him beneath me, though I still hadn't seen the hardness pressing its outline into my thigh.

He lifted me and settled me onto it gently, though not too slowly.

It did smart a bit, exactly what I'd come to expect from him. With nothing else to hold on to, I grabbed two fists full of his hair and held my breath. But the hurt subsided as he slid me up and down. I exhaled.

His gaze was murderous—eyes narrowed, pupils dilated.

He clenched his jaw, the muscles more prominent, and glared at something over my shoulder.

"Should I be doing something differently?" I wasn't sure how that was possible as I was at his mercy, held aloft by his strength alone, but I asked anyway.

He stopped moving. "No, _mon ange_. I need to be controlled and am thinking of that; you are paradise. You are still uncomfortable?"

_Please don't stop._

"The rapture outweighs the sting. It is all but gone."

His wolfish grin conveyed his unmitigated approval.

"Doesn't it?" He took a step towards the bed and lay down with my knees on either side of his hips.

_No lady straddles her mount._

Well, I was no lady, not anymore. I had no use for ladylike. In a most unladylike fashion, I moved my hips atop Tristan.

_This_ was what I'd expected. Up and down. In and out. Friction and maybe some heat.

He was certainly not heated but the cold felt surprisingly delicious against my own warmth.

His mouth opened, inarticulate for a moment. Finally, he murmured, "Can you continue that? I promise I will be very still so that I don't hurt you."

I didn't want him to be still. I wanted incomprehensible rumblings and begging. I wanted my name to be what he gasped, his head thrown back, as I tortured him. I wanted to make him feel what I'd felt.

And I wanted to know what he'd do if I put my mouth on him. I was suddenly greedy.

He seemed overly concerned about hurting me but the pain he'd predicted had been fleeting. It was gone.

Nevertheless, I bobbed up and down as if I were astride a wooden horse. It was certainly not unpleasant, the cold tingling my skin as I moved against it. When my thighs began to burn a bit from the effort, I leaned forward and planted my hands on his chest.

I felt as if I'd gotten a second wind. Tristan moaned my name as I had his.

His hands were making indentions in the flesh at my hips and then my bottom, but I couldn't find it in me to care.

I would wear a bruise from this battle like a badge of honor.

He sat up and bent his knees up behind me. I slowed down.

"Don't stop. Please…don't…stop." He put his mouth to mine.

That was the voice I'd wanted to hear.

Finally, it felt as if all the muscles in his body tensed and released. I could almost make out my name on his lips.

He leaned back against the mattress in repose.

I must not have masked my disappointment well; I could feel my eyebrows pulling together.

He put a finger there and asked, "What is it?"

"I…was…we're not…."

He laughed.

"So greedy already. If you are not ready to dismiss me, we are certainly not through."

"When I was standing before…_that_ feeling had started to build again. If you are tired, or…."

He pushed a piece of hair back from my forehead. "I don't sleep, _cherie_. And were I even inclined to do so, I would not begin such a habit tonight."

"_This_ is not sleep. I wouldn't want to push you."

"While we are here, in your home, my flesh is yours to command."

I began to rock my hips against his again; I'd been given all the permission I needed.

With one hand bracing my back, he rubbed his outstretched hand from my stomach to right between my breasts, guiding me back until my upper body was flush against the mattress. My skin stretched taut over the arc of my spine.

No longer able to set the meter, I gave myself over to his control. His fingers circled and teased near where we were joined and the added sensation made me cry out.

Knowing what to expect—that I would neither forget to breathe nor would my heart explode as a result of the rapidly heating smolder inside me—meant that I was at liberty to luxuriate in the sensation.

"Tristan…."

He continued his rhythm after the last tremor raced through me and he had satisfied himself again.

"What do you say to a bath, my Sophia?"

"Mmmmhmm."

"And the rest of your supper? I can bring it up for you."

"Am I allowed more of a meal than you?"

No noise escaped him but I felt his chest jostle beneath mine in a chuckle.

As he lifted me to take me to the tub, he murmured into my wrecked coiffure. "You will never be left to slumber at this rate."

We sank into the water together, me harbored between his knees, steam twirling on the surface on the water. Bending my knees, I sank beneath and soaked my hair. Only after I'd come up for air did it occur to me to wonder if I could take care of my own hair. I had no idea if I had any soap in the room with us.

I turned to ask Tristan and smelled a familiar scent when I turned my head. "You brought soap. I am ashamed to admit that I doubted you had remembered it."

He was already working up a lather. "Sophia, I forget almost nothing where you are concerned." His fingers worked through my hair with no trouble, washing it as if he were a chambermaid.

"You seem so practiced."

"I've been witness to a bath or two."

"'Been witness' or 'been party' to them?"

"Some of both, in fact."

I knew better than to ask a question like that. What had I been thinking?

"That does not mean that I wouldn't have enjoyed either experience more with you involved."

"Tristan, I am under no illusion that you are as inexperienced as I. I should have thought before I asked such a question when the answer is self-evident. Perhaps we should strike a bargain: I will not ask you about dalliances outside these walls if you extend me the same courtesy." I spoke as if I were in need of much accommodation. I did not have to confirm that for him.

His fingers never slowed. "I appreciate your mercy in that regard. But, _mon ange, _I am not trying to deceive you. There is no other woman whose company I would prefer. You will see. I will make sure of it."

He poured pitchers of water on my hair until it was clean of the soap. Then he wound the heavy mass into a knot on top of my head and began very thoroughly washing me from head to toe.

* * *

**Author's Note:** This is my single-handed effort to combat the cold sweeping across the Northern Hemisphere. I will be knocking back Johnny Walker until someone tells me I was at least mildly successful.

I have to send out a monstrous round of thanks for the production of this chapter (it _was_ a production).

Clem and Danni have looked at this chapter more times than any person should have to. They seemed to mind the hand-holding less than usual. There was a great deal of muttering though, sadly, not into anyone's ladybits.

I also received some technical help from Gothic Temptress (and a small army of comrades-in-arms who claim to be lemon experts).

Last but certainly not least, a huge thank-you to the gentleman in the library for pointing out the existence of this fair structure. It will see more, ah, action, in the near future.

* * *

_Metaphysics_ has been nominated for an "Original Character Award." The nominees are phenomenal stories and authors. The link to the site is on my profile. Please go check them out.

Katiebird wrote a stunning review of _Metaphysics_ for "Random Acts of Rob's" Sunday post. (Thank you so much, darling!)

As always, I'm dying to know what you think!


	26. Chapter TwentyFive

**Disclaimer: The Twilight Saga and its characters belong to Stephenie Meyer.**

* * *

_This chapter is dedicated to all the (**jIn**) in my life. There's plenty of it, whether it's Jen, gin, Gen or Jenn, and my existence would be hellaciously bland it its absence, nor would I know who to tell all my secrets. _

_I love you all, with or without a squeeze of lime._

* * *

I could feel my features scrunch. "He really likes garnishes."

There was more quiet laughter as Edward walked to the doors to close and lock them. "I'd have to second that, I think."

When he sat down in the armchair next to me, he grinned from ear to ear. It was heart-stopping. What had I done to earn _that_ smile? It was important for me to know so I could do it again.

"What? Why are you looking at me like that?"

"When you introduced yourself to that man, you called yourself 'Bella Cullen.' It was the first time I'd heard you put your name and my name together—it caught me off guard. I…it made me feel like…I was ecstatic.

"_I_ registered you as 'Cullen.' I knew he'd noticed 'Cullen' on your badge. But hearing it from your lips was different somehow. You don't know how excited I am for it to be true."

"Me too." However much I wanted another go at that palpitation-inducing grin, I couldn't bring myself to repeat the performance.

Not because I didn't want to, but because this was a once-in-a-lifetime performance. I wouldn't be mistakenly calling myself Isabella Cullen because I wanted to be Isabella Cullen very soon. I just didn't know how to get there from my current location.

It seemed like such a journey, but wasn't it really just two words?

His dreamy expression convinced me it wasn't too far away. "Really? Because I don't want you to feel like you have to do this for me. We haven't had the luxury of time; what moments we have had together have felt like they happened in a pressure cooker."

"It wouldn't matter if they happened in a sweat shop run by Aro, I would still choose you."

He feathered kisses along my lips and cheeks. Just as I was really beginning to enjoy my pre-dinner show and working up my nerve to broach the topic, Edward pulled away.

"They're bringing in the food, love."

_Screw the food; I'm in the middle of something here. _

I tried not to look disappointed. Dinner would apparently be performance art this evening, but at least the performance was keeping my irritation at bay.

A middle-aged gentleman in a tux wheeled in a cart while his two strapping young counterparts moved a heavy wooden table and set it with crystal, china and silver so quickly that I wondered how they didn't so much as bobble a fork.

The food, under lids, followed.

Finally, they made a show of opening the wine. I blushed when Edward insisted they present it to me.

The gentleman in the tux checked to make sure we had all we required and left a call bell.

Edward poured the wine for me and took the lid off my plate. "Obviously there's no need to wait on me. Please enjoy."

While starving, I was inordinately interested in moving through the meal and getting on to…dessert.

Edward could distract me effortlessly. This dinner proved no exception to that rule and, despite my initial rush, I melted into the scene like butter on my roll.

He made me try some of everything and keep up a running commentary the entire time. It was quite a spread: beef with red wine and peppercorns, green beans, neeps and tatties (just saying the name made me giggle), salad with Lanark blue and a glass of pinot noir. As I tasted and talked, he seemed so caught up in my human experience that I had to remind myself that his cheeks didn't actually pink up with delight. When I described the sauce over the beef, he actually licked his lips.

He scrunched up his own face in disgust when I put a glass of scotch to my lips and smiled contentedly as I licked whisky sauce from the bread pudding off my fingers.

Unable to just watch any longer, he slid his finger through the rich syrup on my plate and put it to my lips.

"For a guy who doesn't eat, you are extraordinarily interested in playing with _my_ food." I slowly wrapped the tip of his finger in my mouth.

"Make no mistake, you are what I'm interested in playing with, Miss Swan. The means is secondary."

My cheeks were warming up; I could practically see the glow coming off them in the bottom of my field of vision. "I'm not really in play clothes, Mr. Cullen. This is a library, not a nursery." I sat up straighter in my chair.

Edward made a show of inspecting my attire, from the pen tucked into my bun to my patent leather heels and every button and pleat in between. "Maybe we differ in our definition of 'play clothes,' because what you are wearing does nothing but make me want to toy with you."

"I think I'm finished with my dinner."

I stood slowly and walked to a desk in the corner, hoping like hell that Edward would follow me. This was it; I could feel it. He was relaxed, but we were in a semi-public place, somewhere he could distract himself if he needed.

What I needed was some music. You'd think the striptease by the pool would've burned that lesson into my skull.

There was a book open on top of the desk, so I made a show of leaning forward to pick it up and putting it on the bottom shelf nearby. There was no way that it actually belonged there but I just didn't care where Dewey Decimal (or his UK counterpart) said it should go. I had volumes of my own to shelve.

I turned back to the desk, still not looking at Edward. My heart must have sounded like a bass drum to him, which was enough of a clue about my intent.

He materialized behind me, seemingly without having taken a step. "You'll have to be very quiet, Miss Swan. I'd hate for you to disturb anyone."

I might have gotten out a breathy, "Uh huh."

I turned slowly, the small of my back against the desk. Edward placed me on the high, slanted surface but I slid forward, pushing my skirt around the tops of my thighs.

Above where my garters held my hosiery in place.

Edward slid an appreciative finger under the strap and said nothing before putting his mouth to mine.

I wondered briefly what he'd say to my eschewing the matching knickers.

The mood was so different than it had been at Allesworth. He wasn't reining himself in. His mouth roamed without bounds, his chilly lips leaving searing trails all over my stomach, my neck.

I kept slipping forward on the inclined desk and he closed my hands around the cold brass rail behind me while he finished the buttons down the front of my shirt. I bent my knees and set my feet on his hips while I set to work unfastening him.

My fingers closed around his belt buckle and he whispered, "Stop."

_Seriously?_

Edward stiffened. I'd pushed too far, too fast. We _had_ started out pretty hot and heavy. "It's okay to take a break, if you need to."

He stood me upright and I lifted my face to his, checking the score. We were so damned close; what was the problem?

While straightening my skewed top and buttoning his shirt, he explained. "It's not you, Bella. Demetri is coming. I can hear him, which means he isn't far away. He won't try something in here because of all the people. He's tracking me and waiting for us to head back to the cottage; he doesn't think I can hear him yet." I realized that he was whispering.

On the dinner table, his phone buzzed. He grabbed it in a blur. "Where is he?"

He looked up at me sadly as I finished re-buttoning my blouse, smoothing my skirt back down, preparing for the reality bearing down on us. "He sounds so close."

After listening for a few more seconds, his shoulders slumped in defeat. More than once he opened his mouth to interrupt but was never successful. "Fine. I'll leave it in your hands."

Edward pocketed his phone with chilling calm. "We have to get you out of here and it has to happen now."

I knew what else he was about to say and I wanted to protest, to cry and make him stay with me. "You aren't going with me."

Mechanically, he gathered our things. "No, I'm not. I'll meet up when I've shaken Demetri but you are going to have to get on the plane alone. You thought you were alone before and did just fine without me. We know you can do this. You know you can."

"Why can't you come with me?"

He was already tugging me towards the back corner of the library, from whence he'd come from with his spoils earlier. "Demetri tracks in a way that is very similar to how I hear thoughts. When I was hiding at Allesworth, he couldn't pin down who he was detecting, or if it was just a curious nomad. He knows who I am now but he won't be able to find you without me. You can still slip away undetected if I distract him.

"If he takes me to Aro, I can't know where you are. Just get on the plane and go. Alice will keep you safe."

"Who will keep _you_ safe?" I expected no answer as we ducked through the paneling he'd opened. I climbed on his back. My straight skirt was practically around my waist, not that it hadn't been there already this evening.

I closed my eyes and held on tight. We were off like a bullet from a gun.

* * *

The airport was a blur of panic and instructions. I remembered none of them and Edward wrote most of them down. I didn't ask the pilot where we were headed because it didn't matter.

Alone wasn't a destination marked on any map.

I replayed my last few moments with him over and over. He had reminded me that he was much faster than Demetri, that Demetri only wanted to give chase long enough to look interested, that my blood would only make him that much more interested in catching us. The reasons were recounted so many times in such a short span of time that I got the feeling it was for his benefit as much as my own.

The plane touched down and Alice boarded with Jasper.

Neither of them had heard from Edward. Alice had snacks with her that I wasn't interested in but I nibbled on a crust of something so she wouldn't worry. I drank a cup of tea and tried to sleep. I faded in and out, never really sleeping and only checking in with reality to ask the same question.

Was he safe?

Each time I received the same answer.

We touched down a second time in the dark. I was still in my pencil skirt and sheer blouse combo, clutching the blanket to my neck against the weather outside. When the doors opened, the air that blew in was wet but not icy.

Alice knelt beside me. "We're in the Turks and Caicos, Bella."

My confused expression spoke for itself. Alice explained, "They speak English and it wasn't too far out of our way. We have a villa so that you can sleep."

I didn't have to ask the other question either.

"He'll be here soon. I'm sketchy on the details for now, but he's on the way. It will still be dark when he arrives—it's only ten local time—and he won't even have to be stealthy."

"Is he alone?"

"Yes. And he's perfectly unharmed. He's very fast, lucky for us."

* * *

Edward woke me immediately when he arrived at two.

"I learned my lesson last time."

"You're safe."

I shoved the blankets aside, threw my arms around him and squirmed into his lap. "Please don't tell me what happened yet. I think I've finally reached my limit."

"I can't even remember any of it now that I can put my hands on you. Your face…." He planted his lips on mine with striking permanence. I was easily convinced he had no intention of taking them from mine and settled into the embrace like a feather floating dreamily to the grass.

We kissed like that for such a long time, until I noticed his hands reach for the buttons of his shirt.

With a groan, I whispered, "Don't." I half-hoped he hadn't heard me.

_Ignore me. Take your clothes off so we can pick up where we left off in the library._

He slowed his fingers, but his shirt was practically off by the time he asked, "Are you sleepy?"

I already regretted my notions. "No. I just had this stupid thought and if you hate it, I'll be fine. Really. But if you are up for it, then finishing what we were about to start might not be the way to go."

He looked confused but leaned down to kiss my neck.

"You're going to talk to Charlie when we get to Forks. I was thinking that, once you gave Charlie the chance to tell you to stay the hell away from his daughter we could stopover in Gretna Green on our way home."

His mouth was already on my earlobe, nibbling away at my willpower, so he barely had to whisper. "Bella, there's nothing _in_ Gretna Green."

I laughed awkwardly and chewed at my lip. "It's a dumb idea. I read _Pride & Prejudice_ one too many times."

His eyebrows raised when understanding dawned. "Oh."

Shit. He did think it was ridiculous.

He spoke before I could start backing out, his voiced etched with an earnestness that made my chest spasm. "I can't think of anything I'd love more."

"Really? You're not just humoring me? I know how much you like giving me what I want."

He trailed a finger down the center of my throat. "Without a doubt."

My resolve to keep my clothes on wavered. "I was thinking it could be just the two of us, we don't even have to tell anyone, and then we can have a real wedding with cake and a dress and tuxes and flowers once all this mess is actually history. I just kept thinking that if something had happened to you tonight and I didn't get the chance to say any vows…well, I couldn't even entertain the thought long enough to decide what I'd do."

"Don't feel like you have to do this because it's what I want."

"You were about to…well, I'm not exactly sure what we were about to do, but I'm more than sure I was the aggressor back in the library and you were going along with what I wanted despite your own misgivings. This is nothing compared to that. But, I'm not just doing this for you. This is all about me. It's what I want. In fact, you can just submit your 'I do' by proxy if the date is inconvenient."

I smiled and kissed him chastely.

"Seriously, though. I spent half the night wondering if you were alive, safe, harmed…I realized what you would do for me and I want to do this your way. You've compromised in so many ways. There's no reason for you to have any regrets where I'm concerned, especially when it's so easy for me to do this."

"You're so saucy all of a sudden, not that I object. Eloping is 'easy' for you?"

"I really don't want anything else more. The look on your face when you were telling me how happy it made you to hear me call myself Bella Cullen…it was just how I felt reflected on your face."

The next kiss was tender, sweet, full of possibility.

"Would you like to tell your mother in person?"

I hadn't considered being able to see Renee. "I would."

"Then I'll make sure you get the chance on our way home."

I tried to smile, but all I managed was a giant yawn. He tucked me back in carefully and stretched out beside me.

Sleeping did seem like the best idea, since I hadn't been successful in more than a fitful four-hour nap. With him humming in my ear and trailing his fingers on my skin, it didn't take me long to drift off. At six-thirty, Edward woke me up to trade places with Alice so that he could hunt. He kissed me and let her stand guard while I snoozed on.

As soon as I thought he'd gotten far enough away, I walked to the bathroom.

She handed me a latte when I shuffled out. I finally looked around my room and checked out the view—neither had interested me the night before. The bedroom was glass on two sides, overlooking the Caribbean, with an infinity pool just beyond the glass.

"I sent Jasper with him."

"What do we need to talk about?" It was too early and life was suddenly too short for beating around the bush.

She grinned. "I understand that you want to be quiet about this, that it will just be you and Edward in Scotland. But can I help a little? Please? You're going to be very busy until then and I'm going to be looking for something to do. I'd enjoy obsessing over this more than anything else, if you'll let me."

_Reinforcements. Thank God._ "I'd really love some help. I want to just show up and get married, stay a few nights by ourselves and come back to London without telling the whole world. I'm not so uninformed that I don't think it takes some planning for all that to happen but I have no idea where to start."

"I'll pull some things together and you can tell me if it's what you have in mind."

"Thank you."

"No thanks needed. I should be thanking you for giving me something meaningful to do."

I wrapped my arms around her, tears pooling over my bottom lid. "I'll have a giant, overblown ceremony for our families later. I want this for me…us. Be honest with me. Are you mad?"

"No. I get it."

I pulled away and wiped my eyes on my sleeve. "What about your family? Do you think they'll be mad?"

"They'll be thrilled. You're not second-guessing yourself, are you?"

"No, no. I just want to be prepared. You know the Vamp Scout motto, 'Always prepared.'"

"You're already a bona fide Cullen, living by the family motto! The ceremony is a silly formality."

I smiled and looked out at the blush creeping across the morning sky.

"The sunrise here is beautiful. Can we walk outside? I'm not sleepy anymore." I looked at the latte I'd been cradling dumbly. "I guess you picked up on that."

"Always prepared."

* * *

For two days, my life was as sweet as it could be. I felt as if I were living in one of those cheesy snow globes that every tourist-trap beach town makes, complete with unbelievably perfect palm trees and picturesque whitecaps just out my window.

Our plans for the next few days didn't change but having some time for them to rest in my mind let them solidify.

This was real. It was war and it was real.

We needed the Quileute wolves and they needed us. Edward and Jasper were certain that Jake had imprinted on the mystery girl that he ran off with. If that was the case, the wolves couldn't allow a vampire threat to one of their own go unanswered. She'd been at odds with the Volturi for decades, possibly centuries judging by the ages of some of those planted letters. They were hot on her tail, having missed her by only days at Allesworth.

At Allesworth though, Aro had let a few unguarded thoughts slip. Demetri gave more than that away when he came to hunt Edward down.

They were trying to start a war.

A major nuclear confrontation wouldn't help them; in fact it would just thin out their food supply and possibly decimate the vampire population. Minor skirmishes were beneficial to them, ethnic cleansing being their favorite flavor of dispute.

An African summit was currently going on in London, addressing the HIV problem raging across the continent, especially sub-Saharan countries. Already, a delegate from the influential Bangwato tribe had made very public comments about the lesser morals of rival Kalangas being to blame, infecting the entire continent. He'd been lambasted by the media but that hadn't stopped the coverage.

The woman he wanted to become his mistress was a vampire dispatched by Aro, regularly feeding him their poisonous propaganda.

Back in Botswana, the Bangwato delegate to the House of Chiefs was a vampire. Two weeks after the London summit, mass executions had already been penciled in with the same cool one schedules a shopping date.

The alibi was already in place.

The violence there would be the first in a series of skirmishes that would result in vampires sitting in positions of power all over Africa. It had been almost one hundred years since Aro had successfully pulled the trigger on anything like this, thanks to what looked like the work of our mystery woman's even more mysterious army.

Edward thought it felt like a trap.

When Aro imagined his victory, as megalomaniacs are wont to do, he never imagined easy kills or future destabilization of more influential governments. He imagined gloating over burning piles of incense.

He knew that the coven consistently outflanking him had to be gifted, hence his suspicion of the Cullens. Little did he know that his suspicious behavior had only served to increase the number of his enemies.

Edward and Alice were still uncertain as to how his ambush would work. They also doubted that the other members of the Volturi, Marcus and Caius, were in on it. Now that Demetri had tracked Edward and determined that he was at Allesworth, Aro had to assume that Edward knew his plan.

There was no telling what he'd do now.

Edward had changed his earlier opinion about Sophie. He no longer thought that she hadn't made it past being a newborn vampire. He thought she was keeping her existence a secret. If that were the case, Alistair knew her and he was still alive as far as we knew.

Those two could be our mystery girl's co-conspirators.

Our little army was growing all the time.

* * *

We arrived in Forks with the clouds, right on time. We pulled the rented SUV into Charlie's driveway and he was outside before I could get my door open, offering an umbrella.

"Dad, you didn't have to come outside in this weather!"

"You crossed an ocean. I can walk outside, Bells. Get over here." He waved the others inside with his arm. "C'mon inside, kids."

Once inside, he gave me a proper, awkward Charlie hug. "It's so good to see you…I had no idea that I would miss you so much." He looked me over as I took off my wet jacket. "You look great, though. You even have some color on your cheeks."

"It's good to see you too, Dad." I turned and looked at the threesome standing behind me. "You remember Edward, Alice and Jasper, don't you?"

"Sure, sure. Nice to see you again. I was surprised to hear you guys were in London too, but I'm glad Bella ran into some folks she knew."

He held out a hand to the guys and Alice gave him a hug and a kiss on the cheek. He blushed and she grinned. "We love having Bella around."

Edward shook his head at his sister. "Chief Swan, we were the lucky ones. I can't tell you how much I've enjoyed getting to know her again."

Charlie coughed nervously. "Well, good. You all must be exhausted. Have a seat."

Edward cleared his throat. "Actually, we were wondering if you'd like to come out to the house this evening, Charlie. Alice invited Jake and Billy and some of Jake's friends over for dinner. They're supposed to get there around six, but you can come over whenever you'd like."

"Dinner, huh? I was already feeling guilty about taking Bells to the diner her first night back, but asking her to cook didn't seem right, either. That sounds much better than either of my ideas. What do you say, Bella?"

"I'm game."

I don't think Charlie was prepared for the smile Alice unleashed on him. He looked a little dazed until after their SUV pulled away.

"So that's your beau, huh?"

"Um. Yeah. What do you think?"

"I was kind of uncertain but after Jake came home telling me how great he was, I couldn't argue with a recommendation like that."

Oooh. Charlie and Jake had chatted. No chance Jake would talk about my love life and be able to keep his trap shut about his own.

"Have you met Jake's new girlfriend?"

"Yeah. He and Gen had lunch with me yesterday."

Score.

"Edward and Jasper met her, but I haven't. I hope she comes tonight."

"She promised to make me some kind of sticky pudding something or other…I should call Billy and have him remind her."

"Always thinking with your stomach. Some things never change."

"Hey. There's been a shortage of home-cooked meals since my head cook shipped out a while back. I'll take it where I can get it, thank you very much. In fact, she looks like you. Out of the corner of my eye, it almost looked like you were puttering around in my kitchen again."

I promised myself that I would fill up his freezer before I left, something else Alice could help me with.

"You want me to help you get your bag upstairs?"

"That would be great. Maybe we can hit the grocery store so I can make something for tonight?"

"Whatever you'd like."

* * *

At five-thirty, Charlie, an apple cobbler and I made our way to the Cullens. I was glad that Charlie knew where the hell we were going, because their house was in the middle of nowhere.

I could see a bonfire in the back yard and three figures on the front porch.

Edward walked to the car to meet us, taking the cobbler (and a kiss) from me and shaking Charlie's hand. I knew they were talking but I wasn't paying attention. Jake introduced me to his girlfriend, Genevieve de Villiers, who embraced me like her long lost sister. She was warm. Really warm.

Edward ushered Charlie to the kitchen and Jake pulled me into another hug. Remarkably, his wasn't any warmer than hers.

I swallowed thickly, uncertain and nervous about my relationship to her. "Hi."

"Hello, Isabella. Call me Gen."

"I'm just Bella. But you probably already know that."

She took my hand and lowered her voice. "I'm so sorry I had to lead you on a wild goose chase, Bella. I couldn't think of a direct way to do things that wouldn't scare everyone away."

"I think I understand. I'm just so glad to see you in the flesh, to know that you're not a figment of my imagination."

We walked towards the river, but without any destination.

Once we were a few paces away from the house, she lifted her face to the stars and inhaled deeply. When she exhaled, I felt as if I'd witnessed her uprooting something primeval. "It's such a relief, not hiding in the shadows from you…from people who know who I am. I don't even have to watch my tongue."

She laughed softly before she shared the joke with me. "Maybe I didn't tell you directly because I don't even know how to tell the truth like that, in one fell swoop."

I smiled, certain she could see it in the darkness, but didn't bother commenting. This was not a woman who I imagined needing her hand held. We walked on in comfortable silence.

I asked, "So, 'de Villiers,' huh?"

"Yes. But Alistair gets all of the credit. Tristan was gone before I was born."

"Aro?"

She shook her head. "Alistair."

We doubled back towards the fire. Against the crackling firelight, she was ethereally beautiful. Her hair was like mine and we were about the same size, but that was where the resemblance stopped. Where my own eyes were dark and warm, hers were pale and icy, very striking.

I wanted to wind her up like a toy and make her talk until I was out of questions.

As usual, my nervousness manifested itself in a laugh. "Where should we start? You know this whole story. I'm too overwhelmed to know how to begin."

"You aren't lacking many details, my dear girl. You've put together the important bits."

My face was in my hands and I crouched on the ground. "God, these past few weeks have been like walking through a house of mirrors or living in a Dali painting. The ground underneath me swells and rolls and disappears…and then Edward…and Jake and you…the whole damned world looks different every day. 'Disoriented' seems woefully inadequate, but it's how I feel."

She knelt down in front of me and put her hands on my knees. "I'm so sorry. I've fought Aro almost since the day I was old enough to understand what I was. I can't imagine having your perception of the world and having to…re'vamp' it like this."

I lifted my face to see her smiling faintly. It _was_ a joke.

"There's the Bella I know. Between you and me, I think you have more of a stomach for this than Edward. Don't tell the old boy I said so, although I'm sure he's already heard me think it."

"Were you really afraid that Edward wouldn't tell me the whole truth?"

"He wanted to keep you safe and there are only two alternatives: leave you alone entirely or turn you. There really is no middle ground for humans and immortals. He was taking the high road, but I was too selfish to leave you alone."

"What do you mean?"

"I harbor no hard feelings toward Carlisle—quite the opposite, in fact. But he just didn't have the emotional distance to investigate this properly. Once he realizes what happened, he's going to be wrecked. Add to that the fact that Aro has suspected him for years and he just wasn't the man for the job.

"Edward, on the other hand…he has that absurdly convenient gift. It's turned up so many extra details already. I couldn't think of a way to draw him in without Carlisle and not use you. I watched him grow up, plotting behind my parents' backs, knowing that I wouldn't contact him unless we were in real trouble. Make no mistake, Bella. We are in real trouble now.

"Aro hasn't been involved with humans for decades. His goal is to ambush us and then move on to more frequent disasters, things that distract and cause chaos."

She took my hand and pulled me back upright. "I didn't plan on all this extra help."

"You mean your new family?"

"I had no idea that I would ever have more than two people that mattered so much to me. Now…I have so many people to protect."

* * *

**Allesworth, 1691**

Safely stowed away from the rest of the world, five days passed before it occurred to me that I might need to surface for air. The same seemed to be true of Tristan.

Tristan adored washing my hair. He was fond of any reason for me to be in the bath and had come up with the most ingenious design to make bathing easier. He carved out a stone vessel large enough for both of us to occupy comfortably and put a drain in it.

He was already talking about making improvements to it.

"I have to check in with my employer, Sophia. I will be gone for a few days but I will have a surprise for you when I come back."

"I'm not a child that needs presents when you go away."

I felt his lips on my hair. "I'd be doing it because I want to. I know better than to think you need to be bribed, my beautiful girl."

His random terms of endearment never failed to make me smile. He insisted that he simply couldn't find one that deserved me. Rather than settle, he would continue to experiment.

I arched my neck so that the water could cascade down my back, away from my face. "When do you have to leave?"

"The day after tomorrow."

"And how long will you be gone?"

He placed a kiss on my forehead and then tilted my head upright again. "I should return in a week."

"Very well. I might go to London and check in with Uncle William so that he doesn't worry."

"I like that idea very much. It will save me the heartache of having to be parted from you again when I return."

I splashed my face with water, irritated by his need to paint this arrangement as something it was not. "Why must you do that, Tristan? I don't need you to pretend that I am—"

"Because you are, Sophia. Whatever you can think of to end that sentence, you are to me. You are my entire existence and I will prove that to you soon enough."

Did I even want that to be true? Right now, with his hands on me, his voice in my ears, I wanted it. Was there any other explanation for the way I felt around him than attachment?

Would I still want it once he left?

"You see yourself as insignificant in my world but that will change."

The boyish glimmer in his eye almost made me believe that I would understand. He carried me to bed that evening with a tenderness that spoke volumes when all it needed to say was farewell.

* * *

I'd never in all my life caused a coach to be so glad to be rid of me. Where this wretched illness had come from, I had no idea, but it could go back there at its leisure. I couldn't keep a bite of food or a drop of tea down and I regretted bringing myself to London in such a state.

William was more than happy to take care of me, sending the staff out after my every whim. Every few minutes it seemed that I wanted something different: preserves, cheese, lamb, chocolate. There was no request too insignificant for him to indulge.

He noticed my improved mood immediately on my arrival and I think it was the only reason he consented to let me leave earlier than I'd intended and in such a state.

Safely tucked away like an invalid inside William's coach, which he insisted on my taking, I insisted on my independence one last time. "I'm sure that I will feel better in my own bed. I haven't made arrangements for someone to look after the orangerie, William. I cannot stay one day longer. Can we arrange instead for you to visit in the spring?"

He kissed me on the forehead, a less grand farewell than Tristan's, however lasting its impression. "I would love nothing more. Please take care, darling girl and I will see you in the blink of an eye."

"In the blink of an eye, then."

I arrived at Allesworth late that afternoon. I was determined not to slow our progress with my sickness. I'd never retched before and then wanted to eat immediately afterwards, yet that was what I spent the day doing.

I asked the driver to stay the night but he insisted on heading back immediately, promising to sleep at an inn if it became too late. He was, no doubt, afraid of catching whatever I had.

The food awaiting me in the kitchen was a most welcome sight. I made quick work of the soup, warming it on the fire, and made a pot of tea.

By sunset, I was fast asleep.

* * *

I awoke to a house that smelled like a Parisian bakery. The cook must have seen me arrive alone last night and taken pity on me.

I had to think of some way to clear her out before Tristan returned.

When I entered the kitchen, I was shocked to find Tristan pouring coffee into a cup for me. He kissed my gaping mouth.

"When did you return? How could I not know? I always know when you are near."

He smiled his slyest smile, the one he reserved for waking me up in the middle of the night and sneaking up on me in the orangerie while I was distracted.

"It is my surprise."

I was baffled.

"It cannot have escaped your notice that some of us are...in possession of special talents."

I knew that they were all fast and could hear and see with more acuity than any human. It would make sense that some of them could do more.

"You have a talent for broadcasting your presence?"

He laughed, low and velvety. "That is simply the…residue of my gift. My primary talent is that I can influence humans. You've learned to associate the feelings I gave you with me. I want to be here without that. I want you to want me without it."

Nausea gripped me and the room began to undulate beneath my feet. I leaned on the heavy table for support.

"_Cherie,_ are you unwell? You look as if—"

And I did. I spewed the scant contents of my empty stomach onto his shoes.

He was out of them and carrying me up the stairs in moments. "How long have you been sick? Were you around someone ill in London?"

"I felt this way when I left. It is a constant process. I am hungry, more ravenous than I've ever been, and then I am sick. And tired. I'm exhausted all the time. I fell asleep before six last night and it is near nine now. I don't understand what is wrong with me."

He pulled back the covers and tucked me back in. "I'll bring your breakfast upstairs, give me just a moment."

After feeding and bathing me like a child, he helped me get dressed and put up my hair. We'd been together for hours before I thought again about his missing pull.

"I don't miss it, you know."

He looked through me for a moment before he understood the reference. "You don't have to spare my feelings, Sophia. I understand that this might be an adjustment; your human instincts make you want to pull away from me as it is."

"I have no such desire."

"None at all?" He eyed me in disbelief.

I could make him understand. "You do have an edge of danger that other men do not, but dangerous is not necessarily an attractive quality—not in any lasting way. You dote on me the way William always has, spoiling me really. No human would consider me as more than an incubator for their progeny. I will always know that you chose _me_, not my title or money or womb.

"That is a great luxury, one I think no one else could grant me."

"So you don't miss the breathlessness, the…desire?"

It was my turn to smile slyly. "I couldn't swear that it ever left, my love."

* * *

That afternoon, we were still in my bed and he played with my hair. "I have another confession, my dearest."

He seemed to revel in talking to me about the things dearest to his heart when he had me disrobed. I could only assume that he feared I might run away, were I but properly attired to do so.

I was always afraid a story might involve the seduction of a woman of my acquaintance, and I braced myself for the possibility. "You don't have to tell all your secrets in one day, Tristan. I can wait, if you need time."

"No. I can't stand the thought of deceiving you."

"It is not a deceit if you intend to correct the misconception. Not in my mind." I ran my warm fingers over the stony cold of his chest, placing my hand over where his heart should push against his ribs. I could imagine it beating there.

He clutched my hands tightly and gathered me to him greedily. "Do you mean that?"

"I would not play with you, Tristan. I've never witnessed you be so earnest as you have been since your return this morning. What has you so worried?"

He kissed my forehead, my temple, my neck. "You are so innocent; I loathe to bring you into this world but it is too late for that."

I whispered into his chest as quietly as I could. "I would never talk about what you are, Tristan. You know that."

"If you were inclined to talk about it, you would have done so already. I believe you."

"What else could I need to know?"

"I only began consuming animals after I met your friend, Carlisle. In my defense, I had no idea that it could be done."

What a bizarre statement. "I don't understand, Tristan. Why would you consume animals at all?"

He looked at me as if I belonged under lock and key, stashed away securely from the rest of the world, the people still in possession of all their mental faculties.

"Because it keeps me from drinking humans, dearest. Until I met Carlisle, I had no idea that a vampire could survive without human blood. But now I know that there is another way and I will never do it again. Unless, of course, you wish for it to be me who turns you, and then I would have to taste yours."

The heaving feeling began churning up in my stomach again. My palms were wet and cold and I felt that my body might cave in on itself, my insides consuming me. All the points of reference in my life vanished and I swam in a sea of black, absolutely disoriented.

A million instances of Carlisle's looks of self-disgust, Tristan's wondering if I feared him, Alistair regarding me as an insane person—they flashed before me. They all thought I understood that they were monsters.

And how had I misunderstood the situation so thoroughly?

Angels? How pathetic and naïve! So disgusting. Even a child couldn't be convinced of such a theory and I'd wagered my life, this one and the next, on such a ridiculous notion.

I prayed that the earth would open and swallow me whole.

Distantly, I could hear Tristan speaking. "You hate me. I understand the repulsion, but I will earn your trust back. And I will do it without ever using my pull over you again. I promise. If you stay with me, it will be because you want to, not because you have no free will."

The dim realization that he hated being a monster struck a chord in me. It was noble. It could not have been an easy battle to fight his basest instincts.

I feared him too much to be truthful, but I could not love him now.

"Tristan, your honesty deserves nothing less in return. I am a tiny bit fearful now. I hadn't been before now but…."

He nodded contritely. "That is understandable, Sophia. I will not force you. We can discuss it further tomorrow."

Silently, he unfolded himself from me and replaced the covers around me. My relief at the distance saddened me.

"I am going to hunt tonight, it will give you some time alone as well. I will return tomorrow morning. Maybe…."

I heard myself respond but the voice sounded like a stranger's. "Yes. Maybe after a good night's rest, this will be easier for me to discuss."

It was a long time after he left before I came undone. Though still too frozen with shock to cry, I was a boneless puddle for hours, my disconnected thoughts racing around in my head.

The clock struck eleven and I began to ascend from the depths. I made a pot of tea and scribbled a note to Carlisle.

I stopped halfway through and began again, addressing it to "William" as I had always done in the past.

Early the next morning, I dressed myself for the first time in weeks. I hoped no one noticed the extra few inches under my corset; I couldn't seem to get it as tight as Tristan or my Paris maid. It didn't really matter, since I had no intention of dismounting for much longer than it took to put the letter to post. I sent it to the apothecary Carlisle and Alistair used.

By the time I arrived home, Tristan was waiting for me on the road. He must have heard the horse.

He was clearly distraught and he made my horse nervous. "I was so afraid you weren't coming back."

He whispered and soothed the animal.

While he brought the poor beast under control for me, I gathered my wits. "No, it was nothing like that. I remembered that William wanted to visit soon and I thought his presence might be too much strain at present. I wrote to delay him."

"I think that was kind of you."

We walked to the house in stilted silence. I didn't yet trust myself to say anything that wouldn't anger him or make him suspicious.

I intended to dismount on my own but Tristan insisted on helping me down. He noticed my shoddy attempts at dressing myself immediately.

"It's a wonder your skirts stayed in place for that ride, Sophia. If you would like, I can have a suitable maid brought here from Paris in two days. I'll go retrieve one myself."

The idea of exposing another human to this macabre sham just to keep my hair and clothing presentable seemed selfish in the extreme. I could suffer through his help until I heard from Carlisle. "No need for that. I only dressed myself because I needed to go out. If you don't object, I'd like for you to continue doing it for me."

"I certainly have no objections."

We led my horse to her stall and I turned to face him. "We will find some means of negotiating this, Tristan."

He nodded and then looked at me quizzically. "What is that?"

I looked behind me, inspecting my mount. "I don't see anything amiss. What do you see, Tristan?"

Could Carlisle be here so soon? My heart began to pound.

"Not what I see, what I hear."

"You have me at a disadvantage there. My hearing is not as keen as yours, sir."

"It sounds like a fluttery little heartbeat—a rabbit or a bird—but there's not a creature that size within earshot. I would smell it."

Smell it? No wonder I could hide nothing from him.

He lifted my skirt to my ankles, surprising me as he checked beneath them. Then, even more surprisingly, he lowered himself to his knees and reverently placed his cheek to my stomach.

He leaned his face against the rounded part of my belly.

My stomach should not be rounded in this dress, even so inexpertly handled.

His gaze, when he looked up at me, held everything. Even if I could not stand the sight of him, the tiny monster consuming me from the inside out was now the center of his universe.

He knew. He had to know that we were making that…thing every time he took me to bed.

My hands went to my throat. "No. Tell me that you would not have done this to me."

He scooped me up and ran to my room. "I've never known this to happen."

"I thought we were past lying to one another, Tristan. Will this…child discard me like a cocoon once it is finished eating me alive? It must be why I am sick and cannot eat enough to keep up with my appetite."

He placed me gently on my bed. Again. "I swear to you, I've never known of a human bearing a vampire child."

"Because they cannot happen or because the human doesn't survive?"

"I thought they were not possible, Sophia."

"Why?"

He hesitated and I realized that it was to spare my feelings. I wasn't his first human lover. We'd covered this already, had we not? "Tristan, I know you've bedded other human women. No need to be overly kind now. It is no kindness to me at all."

"Yes. There were other human girls before you. But they never…they weren't…."

Woodenly I muttered, "You killed them."

"Or turned them into vampires the next day. My job is to pull humans that might be talented as immortals. I bring them to my employer and he has allowed me to—"

I held up a hand. "I understand. You are allowed some plunder."

I sat bolt upright in bed. "Is that why you are here, with me? Am I someone for you to…am I plunder?"

He wouldn't get off my hook so easily, though I didn't need an answer. It was plain, even to a fool like myself, yet I made him say it aloud.

"At first, yes."

"But not now? Now I have a choice? I can choose not to return with you to your employer and become a 'gifted vampire'?" He was going to deliver me to a specimen collector, just like one of the insects in my cage downstairs.

"No. You have to come with me. But now, you will be celebrated. We would never have to bite another human again if we can reproduce this way. My master, Aro, will be so pleased with you. Already he was excited at the prospect of you joining us, and of me having found a mate."

"A mate? Tristan, I still don't trust you enough for us to be alone without any circumspection on my part. Surely you see how far we are from such a point? You have been too forthright for me to trifle with you now."

"It didn't seem so far-fetched when I left for Volterra. I know that I should have to prove my commitment to abstaining from humans for some time before you trust me, but I have not tasted one since the spring. And you might change your mind once you understand our thirst."

Only barely did I get the chamber pot to my face in time. How could he deal in lives so casually? I wanted to tell him, to scream at him, that I thought he was a fallen angel, not a monster stalking the earth.

_That_ was the altered fact since he'd returned from Volterra.

But I didn't.

I closed my eyes and let sleep take me.

Sleep was no respite. My dreams were vivid tortures, and I woke up panting, sweat pouring off me.

I heard a velvety voice from the corner of my room.

"I offered you honesty—immortality even— and this is how you repay me?"

"Tristan?"

His contemptuous snort cut through the black. "You think Carlisle has already returned to save you? Humans are so stupid; your minds are full of holes. Even a particularly sharp one like yours. You left this note on the floor by your bed. Did you just not care if I found it?"

I couldn't speak. My life was about to end, why would I justify myself to the executioner?

"Just get it over with, Tristan. Sink your teeth into my neck and have a drink. You've wanted to for months, haven't you?"

An echoing, mirthless laugh fell like shards of glass on my ears. "Oh, the irony, Sophia."

I heard my stomach growl—I was always hungry now—and the irony occurred to me.

An incubator, a womb whose identity wasn't important. I no longer mattered to him but, as the mother of such an oddity, my life would be prolonged to birth this spawn.

I sat up in bed and instantly he crossed the room, his face in mine. "We can still try this. I can't yet say what it would take for me to trust you, but I am too attached to you to pretend that I don't want to try."

"Tristan, surely you can see that my body is not made to care for a creature like you. This is futile. End me and go back home."

"I will be put to death if I return to Volterra without you alive. You see, bedding a human is fraught with dangers and that is the price I pay for being able to do so. Returning with a corpse would be a death sentence for me.

"But you do have an excellent point. Aro would know if you can survive this. And it should be his determination if he'd rather keep you or the child—though I can guess who he'll choose."

He sat quietly for a moment.

"What did you think we were, Sophia? The only reason I can think of for your sudden disgust with me is that you thought I was something other than a vampire. You told Carlisle you knew. What was it? Did you think we were ghosts? Elves? Gods? The ancients bought that nonsense, after all."

I covered my face with my hands. Even in this pitch black, he could see my face. "Angels."

"No." I didn't need to see his face to recognize the disbelief.

"Yes. You are fast and beautiful and you look like something divine in the sunlight. And Carlisle was always protecting me."

"I can be an angel, Sophia." His moods changed so swiftly.

"I don't think you can. I can see that you want a life that isn't an abomination, but you are more worried about saving your own skin that protecting me."

"I cannot protect you if I am dead."

"You can keep my secret—dead or alive. Take this thing out of me before it gets stronger. I've watched surgeries before. It will be torture, but it will save you and save the world from this tiny monster."

"We are expected back in a few days, not long enough to heal your wounds. I don't think I could be around your blood and not kill you anyway."

I decided at that moment that I would find a way to end my life without his help. Now I understood how to enlist his help, should I get to that point.

He made his priority plain. "You should eat."

"And if I refuse?"

"Please, Sophia. I can treat you like the other girls."

There it was, the pull. I'd forgotten how we arrived here at all. He could make me want him…or food, it seemed.

I suddenly wanted to eat my weight in sweets.

I spat my words at him. "Why not make me want to take a bite out of the blankets? Wouldn't that be more convenient?"

"I am only capable of bringing out desires you naturally have. Since you have no instinct to eat cotton or silk like a moth, I cannot influence you to want to do so."

He allowed the meaning to settle in before he elaborated. "Yes. You did. You wanted me of your own accord. I simply inflamed what had already begun to crackle, stoked the fire that already existed."

"You're beautiful. Of course I was attracted. You never gave me the opportunity to let my other instincts act on me."

"No matter. You will eat. What can I get from the kitchen?"

I pouted silently.

I felt a wave of desire wash over me—not for sweets—and he left the room in a rush of air.

* * *

**Author's Note:** My heart aches a little. How did I fall so thoroughly under Tristan's spell? I kind of knew what he was up to and _still _got sucked in. Go figure. Leave a girl a little love to help fight off the emo.

And really, after all this time, my secret keeper HAD to be a Gen.


	27. Chapter TwentySix

_**Disclaimer:** The Twilight Saga and its characters belong to Stephenie Meyer_

* * *

**Allesworth, 1691 **

Before I could draw a breath or breathe a sigh of relief, he returned, his hands empty.

Instead of threatening me from a safe distance, he crouched beside me and drew back the blankets. I winced when he lifted me into his arms. Resistance would do no good, and so I offered nothing. It took a great deal of concentration, but I made myself go limp in his grasp and closed my eyes against the worst.

His cold exhale of irritation coursed down the front of my nightgown. "I've made you dance like a marionette and writhe like a serpent—why are you acting this way, Sophia? Those reactions cannot be conjured out of thin air; it's not possible. They are but a fire that has been stoked. You said yourself that you didn't miss the extra edge. Am I really so disgusting?"

In my mind, he was an abomination, a monstrous deviation from what a person should be. He embodied everything that I would run from on a dark night. That lush voice, all soothing tones and sensual lilt, was anything but disgusting. He knew that.

My eyelids opened slowly and I could see a blurry version of the two of us in my looking-glass. I should have closed them tightly again but curiosity got the better of me.

Holding me as reverently as any pieta could depict, Tristan could have been a ministering angel sent to nurse me through some tribulation. I could feel my will crumbling and I knew that I could only hang on to my ability to reason as long as some righteous anger protected that precious reserve. My storehouses were running dangerously low.

A firm hand pressed my face against his silent chest. He leaned his face to my hair and breathed in deeply. His chest was not so silent anymore. I heard the air—air that was no doubt full of me—swirl in and out of his lungs.

I'd felt him do it dozens of times. Before he left for Italy, he played with my hair until he said that his hands smelled like me and then he put a pair of gloves on to keep the perfume as long as possible.

Even though it was not metered by a heart, the filling of his lungs sounded so human, so innocent.

He exhaled and pulled in another breath. And again.

With every exhale, I could feel my anger and disgust ebb.

Against my better judgment, I spoke. "I cannot reconcile what you have done with how I feel. I think that I need time and it appears that I no longer have that luxury."

He stroked my hair, obviously understanding that my feelings were changing. "Why would you try to contact Carlisle?"

"No one has ever made me feel as protected as he did and I knew that I was in no position to protect myself."

His hand stilled. "You are really afraid of me?"

"Why would I not be?"

He lowered his forehead into the crown of my head, so that they were just touching. "I have no idea how to answer that. It is harder and harder for me to justify all these years of drinking humans now that I've found one that means so much. But I don't know how to stop. I have to force myself to…abstain and I don't know how much longer I can.

"And then I am with you and I want to remember all those human things…to resurrect all that warmth and softness and the feeling that there are things that matter, parts of me that can be repaired. After all these years of nothing new, I am suddenly sprouting new life—and not just this literal one you carry."

His speech moved me; that I could not deny. But it oversimplified the mire sucking us down and we would never survive on hope alone. "But now that I know about you, my choice is to be like you or die? Assuming that this doesn't eat me alive first?"

"I will not let it."

"There is no way you can promise me that. Already you have said that your…master will be more intrigued by it than by me. I am caught, Tristan." I wondered fleetingly what vampires used as their orangerie. Would I be allowed outside its walls? They would bring me food that was not to my taste until they happened upon something that I found palatable and I could waste away, listless, like some of the creatures I had kept under glass.

"Aro is almost certain that you will have a gift. I cannot imagine him allowing harm to come to you on the gamble that this child could be talented. You should be safe with him. I trust him."

There it was: the simple truth. I would have the dubious honor of being the center attraction of the monsters' carnival. "It seems that I have no other choice but to trust him."

I could feel his lips moving in my hair and, while I knew not what they were saying, I felt them end their little speech with a kiss. I pictured myself as a sick old woman on her deathbed, finally surrounded by those she loves, or a martyr marching to her execution in the stead of dozens of others. Through the haze of warmth and resignation, I whispered, "Am I thawing on my own or are you helping me?"

"I will not do that to you for selfish reasons again."

"There is an unselfish reason?"

"I was thinking of stoking your courage when you meet Aro, and of giving you some bliss before you sleep to help rid you of those dark crescents under your eyes. This strange gift does have its uses."

My body was no longer unaffected. It bowed into his, curled toward him at the edges like a sail to its mast.

I was what propelled us forward and I was suddenly reminded of the invisible gust filling me, my tiny executioner.

Tristan pulled away from me so that he could see my face. "Can you feel that?"

"Only just, like little moth wings fluttering. You can feel it?"

His pensive smile caused my face to mirror his though I did not want it to. "And hear it. There is still a heartbeat tapping away and now I can hear little limbs scrubbing up against one another. It must be getting bigger very quickly. That is why you are tired and hungry constantly."

"It cannot get too big…how will we get it out?"

"I am not bigger than a human. I see no reason to think our baby will be overly large."

_Our baby._ Was this really a baby? When I pictured it, I pictured a tiny, doll-sized adult gnawing on my insides, faceless and implacable, not pink cheeks and fat little toes wiggling their way out of swaddling. I pushed his words to the back of my thoughts.

"You are still hungry and yet I have not brought you any food. Forgive me. After a meal, you will feel better and we can make a plan."

Without asking permission, he kissed my forehead and stroked my cheek with his thumb. It was brotherly, comforting. Tears pooled in my eyes.

Possibility ripened his steadying gaze and I grasped at the banner he was flying. "It will all turn out well, you will see. Aro will help us see to that."

With that he tucked me in and I heard him descend to the kitchen. Sleep was lying heavy on my chest and eyelids, pulling me under. It did not take long for me to doze.

From my dreams, I felt the cracking before I was aware of the sound. The earth was being ripped apart at the seams, if I believed the shuddering crash, but I knew better. I waited for the pain to catch up to what I knew must be happening—the tiny beast was cramped for space and my hips or ribs seemed like the best wall to demolish.

I clenched my jaw and braced for a hurt that never came.

I threw the covers back, checking myself for injuries. Sometimes victims of the worst atrocities are protected from the pain by some trick of the mind. Yet I was whole. It was no trick.

There was nothing to see when I looked out the window so I ran for the stairs. I heard more thunderous noises—like boulders being thrown together and torn apart—but never saw anything.

Forgetting my bare feet, I stepped onto the icy ground outside. By the time I slid my feet into a pair of boots by the door, the noises were far away, fading like a retreating rainstorm.

I hastened toward the gardens and the pond. There was a hole in the ice that was not apparent until I was practically on top of it. The ice was about a foot and a half thick, but something had broken it on the edge nearest the house.

Once I noticed the gash, the iced-over tracks were easy to see. The dripping made a riotous trough of tracks that disappeared into the woods.

I was afraid for Tristan but I was even more afraid of what he must have run into out here. In the distance, I still heard the awful screeching, worse than the noises from Carlisle and the monster from the cave.

Had that been a vampire? Had Carlisle killed one to protect us? Was Tristan fighting one now?

I turned to run toward the stables, understanding that I was in no position to fight whatever had forced its way through that much ice. With a sickening thud, I fell to the ground in my hurry. It registered while I was on the ground that something was coming to drink me and only Tristan was fighting it off. For a moment, I considered staying down or even riding into the woods to offer myself instead.

In the end, the instinct to run won out. After all, what would Carlisle think of my giving up so easily?

It took so much concentration and effort to saddle the horse without help that I was astride the beast before I noticed that the far-off noises had ceased.

I dug my heels into the poor horse, tearing up the lawns in the straightest path to the main road. My unpinned hair whipped at my face and the icy cold bit at my flesh. A nightgown and Tristan's overcoat were scant protection from the weather.

None of the homes close by would protect me. In fact, fleeing to one of them would only endanger those I knew. The only thing I knew to frighten these predators was the threat of exposure. I needed to make it to town and find some safety in the numbers there.

It wasn't far. I could make it. I had to make it.

Two houses flew by and I realized that I had no other humans between myself and safety. I urged the horse onward; the animal seemed to grasp my frenzy and needed precious little reminding to be fast.

Every tree limb seemed to grasp at my ankles and reach for my hair, but I noticed them in a detached sort of way, the way I would notice an untied ribbon in a stranger's hair. What good could come from my bothering with it?

The warm ambivalence from my conversation with Tristan was back. The idea that I was keeping a monster away from the families nearest Allesworth by leaving the house behind warmed me from the inside out. Whether or not I survived this night mattered not; my own death would arrive soon enough.

I could see the glow of buildings beyond the trees when my horse began to fight me. He shook his head and slowed.

He danced to one side of the road and reared up, whinnying in protest.

I patted his neck, my resignation serving me well. "Just let me get down and I will set you free, my friend." He calmed a degree and I leaned down to whisper in his ear. "That's it. Just—"

At the same moment, he reared up again, hitting me in the face. I could feel the blood pouring from my nose and I knew that it would not be long now. They could not resist blood.

A shadow circled around to my side and my suspicions were confirmed. I would not make it to safety. Whatever he planned to do with me—kill me now, kill me in Italy—he was in no hurry now that I was caught.

Maybe he had not intended to end me, but now I bled for him.

I decided to help him make up his mind and whispered into the air quietly, the steam from my breath the only evidence I had formed the words.

"What are you afraid of? Take me now, or run along to Aro like a good little whipping boy."

In a movement so quick I never saw my assailant, I was swept off the horse and we landed in the snow. I was wrapped in heavy cloth.

The canvas-like material muffled the sound but I thought I recognized the voice. "Wipe your face and hold your nose to staunch the bleeding. Quickly, Sophie."

Alistair.

"Quickly, Sophie. I have not eaten in weeks and it would be a shame for you to lose that horse over a nosebleed."

"You are not going to…hurt me?"

"Good God, no, woman! The first sensible response I have heard from you in months, and you save it until now? Of course, it's too little too late, but at least it is reasonable. I need to get you home and clean up our mess, and aside from that there is not a thing to worry about tonight."

Pinching my nose hurt, and I wondered if it was broken.

"Surely you are no longer spewing blood, girl."

"As far as I can tell."

"I am going to step away. Count to five and pull the cloth away. Maybe use some snow to clean up if you can stand it. I will get you home quickly to warm up."

I did as he instructed and scrubbed my mouth and chin with snow. I dried with the cloth—apparently his overcoat.

He was at my side before I could tell him I had done all I could.

"Hold your nose and do not talk. I need to get you somewhere that you can change."

"Where is Tristan?"

Overlooking my disobedience, he answered curtly. "He will not be returning, Sophie."

Unlike Carlisle, he saw no reason to carry me side-saddle and draped me across his back like a child.

I knew that Alistair had killed Tristan. Before I asked I knew. He had that same grim edge about him Carlisle had worn that awful day at the caves so long ago. As he took me back home, even as I clung to him, I plotted how I would make Alistair feel what he had just taken from me.

He had no idea what it was like to feel attached to another person, to care about their existence.

With no more concern than one gives sending a letter to post, and just as swiftly, he had taken every possibility of happiness from me.

Futile though it was, I flung my limbs and yelled at him, screaming my hatred at the top of my voice. Now there could be no noble death, no tricking him into killing me and this demon inside me. How could Carlisle have trusted someone in league with Tristan? How could he have not known?

We veered off into the woods and Alistair pinned me to the frozen ground until I was too exhausted to fight him any more.

"Are you certain you have finished your tantrum, Sophie? I have no intention of this becoming more of a spectacle than it already is."

I snorted. It sounded contemptuous and saved me from having to pant my way through a response.

"Tristan was about to turn you over to a group of vampires who have delusions of influencing entire kingdoms. Yes, his death was regrettable, because I believe that even he realized the malevolence at work, but he knew too much to return to Aro. Aro cannot find out that hybrids can be made. You and I are going to hide until we can make a plan. More information than that is a waste right now because your human mind and emotions cannot manage it."

He extended a hand and my refusal of it caused him to chuckle. "Get up, girl, and let me take you home in peace. Tomorrow, you can rage against me all you want."

I allowed him to take me home. Exhaustion claimed me and I awoke on a settee in front of the library fireplace, covered in blankets from my bed. It was the same spot I had fallen asleep the night Carlisle slipped away.

Alistair sat in a chair across the room.

"You must be hungry. Your stomach growled at me while you slept." On the table beside me were a pot of tea, sugar, rolls and marmalade from my own oranges.

"You mean to ply me with food? You killed Tristan as if he was vermin and you expect me to discuss it calmly over tea? The little monster inside me has not taken over my senses entirely."

"I would not be so coarse as to infer such a thing. Quite the opposite, in fact. If I am to receive the berating I deserve from you, you will need a proper meal first. You have been practicing for hours. Even as you slept, you dreamt of it. I will not cheat you out of it. If you will excuse me, I shall allow you to eat in peace."

I sliced into the rolls viciously, slapping the preserves on them. I imagined biting through Alistair's flesh as if he were the prey and I the hunter, all the while rehearsing my diatribes. By the time I dressed and descended the stairs, I was more than battle-ready.

He awaited me in the orangerie.

"If you mean for me to remember your kindness in the construction of this thing, you are laboring under a misapprehension."

"Quite the opposite. Because I am so intimately acquainted with the structure, I know that your neighbors will hear the least noise from in here."

I stood just inside the door and I wanted to run at him, pound my fists in his chest, however useless the gesture. Instead, I folded myself into a crouch and spoke through my skirts. "Why him, Alistair? If you intend on hiding me, why not hide him too?"

"I can restrain you with almost no trouble. I asked him to leave with us but he was hearing none of it. He chose his fate, little lamb."

"Like I did?"

"No. One of Aro's spies thought you might make a handsome addition to their number but would have moved on without Carlisle's interest in you. Carlisle is so different from most of us that his attention marked you. From that point on, the choice no longer belonged to you. But Tristan, he had come to understand that Aro is despicable and power-hungry. While not entirely grasping the ramifications of bringing you back to Aro, he should have guessed. This child you are carrying will result in an army that he can put among humans without their even knowing it exists."

He stopped speaking for a moment as I stood. "Are there others like this one?"

"None that I know of."

"Then how do you know that it will appear even remotely human?"

"You know as well as I how this works. A child is a combination of its parentage. Even an uneducated farmer knows that much of husbandry. If I can camouflage myself, how much easier will it be for a creature that is half-human? That theory remains to be tested, but the reasoning is sound."

"And so you had to kill him to save me?"

"His death accomplished something on grander scale than just that, but yes. It spared your life as well."

With that I ran at him, launched myself at him with fists flying. He caught me by the torso and never let me harm myself, but I gave myself the satisfaction of one solid attempt.

"I have no desire to live, you fool! Who would want to give birth to one of you? At the very least, you could have killed me on the road, but no. You had to bring me back here and clean up Tristan's mess.

"Be honest. You want to find out what this thing is and is capable of just as much as they do. Well, you can have it. Take it. Take it now!"

He gathered me harmlessly to his chest. "Sophie, stop. If I can find out what that child will be, I will. But I have an idea to keep you alive. Whether or not the baby will survive, I cannot say. Do you want to hear me out?"

"No. Kill us both."

"I will not discuss it with you in this state."

He put me down and walked past me to the door. I knew because I could hear him lingering there, making noises to remind me of his presence. He must have guessed that I wanted to cry without an audience because he left just as the tears threatened to spill over.

I ate. I slept. All I remembered of the few days following Tristan's death and my subsequent tantrum was darkness and Alistair's whispered voice.

"Sophie, wake up. Come on, my girl. Wake up." I heard Alistair's voice, prodding me from sleep, but my mouth felt woolen and my lashes tangled together, knitting my eyelids closed. It was too difficult to pull them apart. Every time I gave up, he started again with the talking.

"'M sleepy still. No."

"You have slept for days, which is my fault, but the time for sleeping is over."

It felt as if it must be the middle of the night, but the sunlight slicing across my face said otherwise.

My closed lids went from glowing red to cool shadow and I knew that he had blocked the sun for me. I tried again to open my eyes. This time, I succeeded in separating the two rows of lashes enough to take in my surroundings.

I was in a hole, on a tiny bed. Neither piece of information helped me determine my location.

"Where am I?"

"In the garden at Allesworth. Or, more precisely, under the garden. The Volturi's spies have come and gone, so it is safe to come out."

I nodded, as if this information seemed perfectly acceptable. It was not but I was in no condition to converse further.

"My teeth are numb, Alistair."

"Yes, well, I am about to take you inside and I did not want you to awaken in the process."

He tucked me into bed and brought me food. I remember feeling as if I were fully awake as I ate and the idea that he should be alone with me in the house struck me as scandalous.

I laughed quietly into my tea.

"I could use a good laugh myself, Miss Copeland. Pray tell what could make you smile at such a time."

His formality in referring to me only made the situation seem that much more ridiculous and I laughed harder.

"I was briefly scandalized by your unchaperoned presence here, until I remembered how such a thing had come to pass at all, and then you referred to me so formally. It is absurdly amusing."

He looked relieved. "You are awake then."

"I think I am."

"And your teeth have regained their feeling?"

I only glared.

"You have some questions for me, no doubt."

"I think I understand but I will let you try and explain yourself."

"The Volturi sent three men to investigate Tristan's absence. They found his ashes not far away. I left your bloody nightgown on the road. They came to their own conclusions and left. They have no idea you are with child, they simply think you have died by the hand of the loup garou—werewolf, in the vernacular—who has been sniffing around here recently. He will take the fall for killing Tristan, regrettable but not unheard of in their world."

"So you hid me in a hole?"

"Yes. I pulled a garden structure over us. It did the job, however risky."

Over the next week, I rested and ate—a near-constant endeavor—while Alistair plotted an escape plan for me.

The Volturi would send spies back, he was nearly certain, and I needed to disappear before that time. They would also send someone to London, in case I turned up there. I could conceivably reappear later, but I could certainly not be with child and it would put anyone who saw me in danger.

In view of that, I wrote a letter to William, carefully-phrased with Alistair's help. I made it sound as if I had eloped with Tristan and we were touring the Mediterranean on a honeymoon. Losing the last of his family to that body of water seemed like a cruel thing to do, but I thought that he would be less likely to investigate something so painful.

In a month or so, Alistair would send the appropriate letters to William to tell him of our untimely demise.

The last bit to worry about was the baby. I could have been as much as a month into carrying the monster, and I had a significant protuberance already. It had to be disposed of quickly and Alistair was dragging his feet.

"Alistair, it has to be soon. I have been living in the damp down here for two days and I cannot do it much longer. Cut the beast out of me so that we can run. I only agreed to come down here again because you promised to do this for me."

"You are certain?"

"You know that I am. This thing is eating me alive and will begin breaking my bones soon enough. I dream every night that it has."

I had forced him to see the purple spots covering my abdomen, attesting to its strength. If he could not bear to look at my bared stomach for such a reason, he would be ill-prepared for performing surgery. He was surprisingly cool about the matter and it eased my nervousness.

"You will remember to send the letter to William?"

"Of course."

"And Carlisle. He will never know of this mess?"

"I would never breathe a word of it to him."

"And the child?"

"The same as Tristan. We have had this conversation dozens of times, Sophie. What is it that you want that you are afraid to ask?"

"My belly…it is hard, like a stone. Like you. A scalpel will not do the job."

"You cannot know that."

"We both know this, Alistair. I felt you prodding my stomach when you examined my bruising. You must know."

"What are you asking, Sophie?"

"I am not asking. I am absolving you. Whatever happens, if your baser instincts take over and you slip, do not feel that you have to turn me into one of you to make up for it. If I die in the course of this, it is because I have made mistakes, not you. Let me go."

I held his gaze in the dimly-lit cellar. "It is late and dark. Lock the door and get on with it while my screams might not be heard."

I watched him walk to the shadowy corner far away from me, listening intently as he mixed some concoction.

He crouched in front of me with his potion. "I promise to do as you have asked, even though I do not agree. I had hoped that you might change your mind about being like me, that some time with your decision might weaken your resolve, but I understand your reticence. Drink up, my lovely, and I will see you in a few hours."

I held up the glass. "To life after death."

The last thing I remembered as I drifted off was his voice, echoing my words.

Surely, Alistair was finished by now. Why would he need to slice at my fingers and toes to take the beast? Maybe it was some strange side effect from the potion he gave me. I wanted to writhe and scream out, but I knew that it might be heard by someone.

I tried to open my eyes, but they refused to comply.

With that, I panicked. Considering the excruciating pain I was enduring, it seemed absurd that such a detail would push me over the edge, but not being able to look around frightened me more than the pain. I was unable to move any part of my body. It felt as if I were being consumed by fire, scorching not only outside but inside my body, while I remained tethered to my bed.

If it were the medicine causing the burning, it was obviously wearing off enough for me to awaken. Surely the feeling would lessen soon too.

The torture did not let up. It only increased, in both intensity and in the area it covered. The flames had moved, slowly, as if the journey from my feet to my ankles was arduous. The rest of my body burned, but not like my extremities.

I tried everything I could think of to distract myself, but nothing worked. I remembered Alistair's promises, Carlisle's kindness, Tristan's repentance, William's love.

That was when it dawned on me that Alistair had done exactly as he had promised. These embers would not be dying down anytime soon.

This was my eternity. I had been damned for eternity.

So be it.

As the searing began to crest my knees and elbows, I found the concentration to open my eyes. What I saw shocked me. I was back in Alistair's cave, under the garden temple—a circle of hell designed just for me, if ever there were such a thing.

As I began to notice details, smells wafting about, the familiar texture of my nightgown, the sound of the bed linens shifting beneath me, I became disinclined to believe that I was being punished by the Almighty.

I could smell wet leaves, probably tracked in when Alistair brought me down here, as well as something floral and citrusy.

Alistair had gone back on his promise. I was becoming a monster.

Wherever the son of a bitch was, he certainly heard my scream.

I had no idea how long it went on that way, the hottest flames inching their way inward. As they neared meeting in my stomach, I could feel my heart begin to race, as if it too recognized this unnatural progression and wanted to launch one last assault, however futile.

As my heart thundered in my chest I felt a shred of hope. If it burst before the poison could finish me, maybe I would die without becoming a monster.

I willed the muscle forward, urging it to explode in its Herculean effort. Suddenly, the inferno converging on the center of my body burst outward and I prayed that my heart had done me in.

It had not, of course. After a few stuttered beats, it stilled eternally. Slowly, the blazing cooled and I was left alone with a very different burning, the one I feared the most.

To calm myself, I took a deep breath in and opened my eyes. Despite the absence of any sort of lamp, I could see perfectly well, even the smallest detail. While the thought of standing was still barely formed, I was already upright.

The sudden movement displaced the bed and, in my haste to straighten it, I bent the frame. I tried again, gingerly this time.

On my third attempt, I was successful. I would have to learn how to deal with this new strength. A note had been nailed into to rock wall, from Alistair no doubt. I fought the instinct to tear it from the wall before I read it. Instead, I left it and read it from where I stood across the room.

_**I know what you asked of me and I understand why. My life is distasteful to you; I am sorry to make you one of us.**_

_**I did just as you asked, but the facts are not what we imagined they would be and I will only remedy them if it is still your wish when I return.**_

_**Do not under any circumstances leave this room or you will regret it. The only meal nearby is under your employ.**_

Damn him.

As mercenary as he seemed, even Alistair weakened at the thought of watching a girl die. I hoped he would finish disposing of the little monster soon so that we could put an end to this quickly.

* * *

**Author's Note:** This took much longer to deliver than I expected and I'm so sorry for the delay.

On a related note, I posted the first chapter of a new story yesterday. It's entitled "Analog." You can find it here: fanfiction(dot)net/s/6706457/1/ It is a Jasper/Bella coming of age story, set in the mid-nineties. While nothing like Meta at all, it has been such a pleasure to work on. I hope you'll have a look.

Clem, "inserting the wolf" sounds so much naughtier than those silly wabbit jokes. *snort* Thank you for looking at this, darling.

Danni, thank you for prying your attention away from the apron-clad boy in your kitchen long enough to have a peek at this.


	28. Chapter TwentySeven

_**Disclaimer**: The Twilight Saga and its characters belong to Stephenie Meyer, but please don't hold her responsible for what I've done to them. _

_The extras are my own. _

* * *

**In the last chapter of _Metaphysics_:**

_She took my hand and pulled me back upright. "I didn't plan on all this extra help."_

"_You mean your new family?"_

"_I had no idea that I would ever have more than two people that mattered so much to me. Now…I have so many people to protect."_

_

* * *

_

**Forks, 2009**

Gen's resolve was a feeling I could understand. Its seemingly fated origin or possibly cataclysmic end were white noise in comparison to the siren call of my attachment to the newest members of my family. "It makes a difference, doesn't it? I can't fight Aro or…any of them, but I want to so badly. It's all I think about now. I know that I'll never have a life until they back down. The catch is that they seem to have no intention of ever doing that, which is a hell of a long time in their case."

"Bella, my family and I have been quietly undoing Aro's schemes for centuries, but this is it. We've given him enough rope to hang himself; it's just a matter of making sure all the facts reach the light of day. Even if we don't turn him into a pile of ash, his power base will be gone and it will be so much harder for someone else to come along and try this again."

I nodded and allowed her certainty, years in the making, to sink in, to calm me.

Gen grinned conspiratorially and I wondered what there could possibly be to smile about in this wreck. "Speaking of Edward's convenient charms, he seems to be winning over your father as we speak."

My fickle calm fled, rats abandoning the ship. I'd forgotten about him talking to Charlie, assuming that he'd be a procrastinator like me when it came to dealing with my parents.

"He's talking to him _now_?"

"And it seems to be going very well. Charlie isn't a big talker by any means, but he doesn't usually mask his disapproval with insincerity, either. He seems to appreciate both your relationship with Edward and the fact that Edward respects your ties at home. I'll let your fiancé give you the specifics."

I took a breath. "Thanks for the warning, though."

"One more detail, before I forget."

"Sure." Worry bubbled up in my chest again. Gen wasn't the type to put useless details out to seed, even if they served only to distract. My mind turned the flickers of firelight and children's sparklers into neon signs flashing in the empty air above her.

"I know you aren't a fan of being maneuvered by immortals, and I sympathize—I've had centuries of being on the giving and receiving end, and even I am still surprised by our ability to conjure up alternative realities. But do you understand why I did what I did, Bella? Or are you just being nice to someone you don't know well?"

Her contrition was as moving and beautiful as Edward's had been at Bunhill and in the library. How were vampires _not_ ruling the world already? It was but an international incident and an apology away.

"I do understand. Really. And it's fine. No one even knows you exist, right? The need for secrecy was paramount."

She nodded.

"I think you did the best you could in a bad situation. It would be ridiculously self-centered to ask for more. What you did doesn't make me angry anymore. Really."

Still she remained silent.

"I mean, I know I was mad at Edward and Alice, but they really overstepped. Alice lured me to England under false pretenses and Edward seduced me nightly while I was practically unconscious and then left me confused, dealing with the fallout on my own. It was so callous and…unnecessary. Why would they do all that when I was so unprotected?"

I sighed melodramatically and shook my head. Some of the things that the Cullens had done were almost inexplicable, but I didn't want to be angry. Stomping my foot over events that they couldn't undo seemed so childish, yet I couldn't help feeling this way.

"And Carlisle. Why didn't he just tell Esme the whole story?" Why did it seem that Carlisle never told the whole story? Edward would've known if he were lying.

My breathing increased. Gen wore a strange expression, one that I'd seen on Edward's face, one that I now associated with moths determined to self-immolate.

She was exhilarated. At the prospect of being known.

"Your mother was talented. That's why Aro wanted her. Tristan and Sophie thought you might be talented as well.

"What can you do, Gen?" I was uneasy, to say the least.

"It's easier to show you; it makes more sense that way."

Her eye contact, practically a dare, unnerved me. "Sure. You want to do it now?"

"We might as well. You deserve the chance to be angry with me now, rather than letting me ambush you again."

"I won't be angry." I didn't even convince myself.

* * *

**Allesworth, 1691**

My new senses entertained and distracted me endlessly. In about an hour, I'd learned to differentiate between the footsteps of squirrels and foxes and rabbits and deer. I knew the sounds of burrowing little animals as they scraped and clawed their way through the dirt just beyond my tiny cave, occasionally even scraping against the stones that defined its borders.

The endless possibility for experimentation opened up before me, my mind making furious, exhaustive notes even as I concentrated on memorizing the vital noises outside.

Out of uncontainable curiosity, I displaced a slab and scooped out the dirt containing the little vermin I could hear tunneling viciously just beyond it. As soon as I had the thing in my cupped hands, his pointy face emerged from the dirt. He sniffed and his muddy scent changed, became sharp and vinegary, and his pea-sized heart threatened to beat right through his fragile chest.

He jumped blindly and I caught him before he could fall far enough to hurt himself. I placed him on the floor unharmed, unreasonably proud of myself for salvaging my misstep.

I hummed a lullaby, hoping to calm him, and reveled in my voice. How I could sound like me and somehow elevate a child's song to such a gorgeous noise fascinated me. Soon I was singing for myself, testing the impossible range of my improved singing voice.

I was aware of the discontinuation of my song before I realized why I had stopped.

Footsteps. Not four-footed, not hooved. Shod. Heavy but lithe. Fast.

Vampire.

My resultant hiss and predatory crouch shocked me. I knew Alistair had promised to return, so why was my instinct to fight?

I forced myself to straighten and waited for him to come to a stop.

"Sophie? I am going to open this now. I'm alone and I won't hurt you. Do you know who this is?"

"I recognize your voice, Alistair."

"I am relieved. Sometimes the change takes some memories away."

He moved the stone slab without waiting for my response and slipped into the hole with me. "Do you want to go out or would you rather wait here for me to bring you a meal?"

"I would rather know why you made me a monster than to act like one right now."

"Understandable, given the circumstances, but you should eat. You will just have to trust my judgment in this case." His expression left even less room for discussion.

As soon as he mentioned a meal, I could think of nothing else.

"I believe that I understand."

He did a poor job concealing the amusement in his expression. I noticed even the tiniest changes in inflection and expression. Fascinating.

"Due east is unbroken forest for a long way. If we run there, you can hunt without fear of crossing paths with another human before daybreak."

"I will follow your lead."

He leapt through the sliver of a hole and I did the same, surprised by my own agility. Moonlight flooded the gardens around Allesworth, casting a cold shimmer over everything. My gaze darted from one detail to the next.

"Concentrating is a difficult task for the first few months, but I have to say that you are doing surprisingly well."

This was surprisingly well? "Every minute detail is distracting. I feel as if I am on an unbroken horse."

"Yes. Exactly. Remember something, Sophie: no matter how strong the desire, do not stray from me. You are stronger and faster than I right now and I will not be able to restrain you unless you allow it.

"Are you ready?"

Was I? "Yes."

Early spring air should have given me a chill. I waited for a shiver that never came. Even though I could tell that it was not warm outside, I never felt the cold.

Fascinating.

"What is the date, Alistair?"

"It is the third of April."

The shimmer of frost playing with the moonlight caught my eye. Even the swipe of my finger across a tiny branch did not melt the layer away. "Why am I not cold?"

"You will be unaffected by outside temperatures, unless you catch on fire, in which case you would burn quickly."

I could take care of my problem alone, then.

"What are we hunting?"

"Whatever catches your attention first. There are elk and deer nearby."

My nose turned up involuntarily. "We shall see…."

The first deer did precious little to abate my hunger. Only after the second did I notice a decline in the parching thirst. And only after a third did it occur to me to be thankful that I had not crossed paths with a human. No person would have escaped this monstrous craving.

After a fourth, I could hear their blood sloshing inside me like a living thing. Any more and I would have burst like a greedy, overfilled tick.

Alistair looked as if he had just supped with Her Majesty, not a fold misplaced nor a crimson drop to be seen anywhere. I, on the other hand, must have looked every inch the monster that I had become. My fingernails were brown with the dried blood of my prey. Streaks of the stuff were visible on my skirt and bodice. I could only imagine what I looked like above the neck.

It occurred to me that I had no idea how I looked. Did I still look like me? Would anyone even recognize me if I were standing before them? My hands went to my dress self-consciously.

"Seeing yourself in a mirror before you clean up would do you no good, I can assure you."

"Am I a monster, Alistair? This is no time to take up the habit of sparing my feelings."

He laughed heartily. "You are as much of a monster as you chose to be now, Sophie. But you look especially like one at this moment, covered in blood and scarlet-eyed."

"My eyes are scarlet?"

"And they will be until your own blood leaves this body, I would imagine. It was almost a fortnight after I stopped drinking humans before my own eyes turned this yellow color. I have no idea how long this will take for you, if your own blood takes longer to be rid of. It could be hours or months. I have no idea because I am new to abstaining from humans."

Inexplicably, his confession didn't hurt my feelings. It might have been the sympathy that having experienced this thirst elicited; it might have been my lack of expectation at all where Alistair was concerned. Whatever the case, I was unscathed by his admission.

I washed my face in the pond and accepted the change of clothes he brought me. As I carried the the bundle of cloth down to the hole under the garden temple, I felt the first pang of regret for what I had made Alistair do to my child.

My perspective on vampires had changed, literally and metaphorically. I was surely destined for eternal damnation, but now I felt that my role in the child's death would be listed in my ever-expanding mass of iniquity.

The child loved me. She loved _me_.

I could stand it no longer, this excruciating exercise in long-suffering. "Alistair, I am properly fed and bathed. What do you need to discuss with me?"

"It is more a matter of what I need to show you."

He wanted to show me the remains, or the ashes, or whatever was left of the baby and I could not see it. "I cannot see what you did to her."

"'_Her_?' Do you mean—how do you know that the baby was a girl child, Sophie?"

In the same way I knew I was a girl, I knew she was. One never asks how they know such self-evident truths. "Was it not? It must be a mother's intuition. Do not make me look at what you did, Alistair. I cannot fathom seeing it with my own eyes and trust that you have done what was necessary."

"Sophie. Listen to yourself. You were so certain that she was an abomination only a few days ago. How can your perspective have changed so quickly?"

"How could it not? _I_ am not what I was days ago. I cannot believe you went along with such a heartless scheme. Though coming from you…."

"I can understand why you might think that of me. It is an impression at which I labor intently."

"My apologies, Alistair. You have been most thoughtful with me."

"Sophie. Think about the moment you began to see the child as such, and not as a monster. When did she become a baby girl in your thoughts?"

I remembered our hunt and cleaning in the icy water. The child was but a hazy blackish thing then. When Alistair handed me the clothes, however, when our hands met briefly, I felt a surge of motherly love towards my baby girl, a belated desire to protect her.

She seemed so real.

"When you handed me the clothes."

"The first time you touched something she touched."

"Your hands?"

"Yes."

I installed myself at his side in a moment, taking his hands greedily in my own. She was there.

And on his arm, I could feel her approval of him. She loved him. She loved me. She loved…someone else as well, someone who felt like Alistair's young friend from London, the boy. She hated milk but drank it occasionally.

She preferred blood.

The gown they had procured for her made her itch and she felt as if swaddling were a form of torture. The tender pads of her feet were ticklish but stroking her back would put her to sleep.

With a jolt, I leapt from Alistair. I had been rubbing my face against his chest like a cat. "What is wrong with me? I am going mad from the guilt. You should burn me now, before—"

"Stop, Sophie. Stop and listen. She leaves a residue behind on everything she touches. Sometimes it is simply her feelings on a matter, but she can lie as well. She can make you feel a reaction to something…I have a hard time explaining it, probably because I do not entirely understand it."

"No, Alistair. I am feeling more than what she left on you. As plainly as I know that your waistcoat is brown, I know that your young friend is afraid of me. And the little girl, she wants me to return with you. I know what they thought around you and it feels different than the impressions on your person, the ones I have to touch."

Alistair seemed to be covered in the evidence of his interactions. Every person with whom he'd spoken or interacted had left the evidence of that interaction hovering in the air about his person. The closest approximation I could think of was a scent. The closer I drew to him, the stronger the impression became.

Each person's thoughts—whatever they had been thinking in Alistair's presence—had a distinct note of their own. Once I identified the note with a person, it was easy to pick it back up.

Alistair's contact with others was so limited, separating the two sources was child's play. I imagined that more would be very difficult.

A sly grin colored his features. "When I saw it, saw her, I could no sooner destroy her than I could you. I am not so heartless. Just because it is still does not mean I have no use for it. And you. You have a talent as well, just as I knew you would."

"This is a _talent_? Of course she has a talent."

"You should see for yourself."

"She is nearby?"

"Yes, but she would smell like a meal to you and I think we should be cautious. What do you think?"

"I would like to hold her, but I want her to be safe."

"I have an idea."

He brought me items that the child had touched—blankets, clothing, a bottle. Each one provided a new perspective, another look at her thoughts.

His hypothesis seemed to be proving true. She had brought a gift into the world with her.

My impressions were separate from the ones she left behind. I could hear and see the ghosts of thoughts, the mental whisperings of those with whom Alistair interacted. It was a fascinating mixture.

Her scent only caused the faintest murmuring of hunger when compared with the urge to gather her into my arms.

Already I had tired of her not having a name.

"I can bear to see her, Alistair. I cannot bear her absence. I need to hold her."

He brought me within sight of the house, where I could hear her playful gurgling inside.

Through the window, I could see her playing with Alistair's little whipping boy, and I had never seen a more beautiful anything. Her dark hair curled at the ends, as mine had when I was very young, and her round little hands grasped at the toy in front of her. Her sweet baby trill bubbled up from a perfect pink pout. No child had ever been more angelic.

"Alistair, she is perfect. How can she be like me at all? I can hear her heart and see the blood in her cheeks. She is human."

"Not entirely. She is a halfling. She would like to drink human blood, but we are teaching her otherwise. Nothing makes her sadder than to upset one of us. Her expressions are very much like your own."

We opened the door and I could smell her immediately. Alistair was correct about the temptation and I had a moment of reconsideration until I heard her babbling from the next room.

"Will she remember me?"

"It seems as if she is constantly looking for you, Sophie. I know that she will remember you."

She did. She fit into my outstretched arms as if they were made for only this purpose. The two men remained only long enough to be certain of her safety and then left the room. She would never find safer harbor. I never reconsidered or revisited Alistair's decision to keep both of us alive.

* * *

Once the humans went to sleep, Alistair would open my daytime cocoon and allow me to emerge. Their desaturated scents lingered on the night air, allowing me to acclimate to them. The time of my surfacing grew earlier each day, but at that point was still near midnight. We were not hunting on this night. "She needs a name, Alistair. What will I name her?"

"What do you like?"

"I started a list while she napped today."

He looked at the wall with barely-concealed contempt. "So I noticed. I think they are all lovely names, if a bit French."

"Oh, so she should be 'Elizabeth' or 'Anne' like the rest of the country?"

"No, not at all. Though those are both lovely names."

"I think she should be Genevieve, after the cathedral in Paris. I seem to remember having visited it." The visit itself was hazy. I wondered if the fog over my human memories would lift or deepen.

"You certainly have visited the cathedral, a lovely place full of dark nooks. The day we met, you had just returned from there. For you, it was a most happy human day."

"My memories of my human life are shrouded. I remember the few days immediately before her birth but little before that."

Alistair dismissed my human life with a flick of his elegant hand, a gesture that resembled nothing so much as a casual removal of lint from a sleeve. "Human lives are filled with strife and heartache. It is for the better right now. You have an uncle who will believe in a few weeks that you are recently deceased. Apart from that, the rest can wait."

* * *

**Forks, 2009**

I picked up the same object for the third time. This time, I was mildly repulsed, as if I suspected a bug were on it.

I smiled widely. "I understand. So you left these impressions on the things that I would touch to influence me."

"Yes."

"It's wrong that all I can think about is ways to play with Edward. With your help, of course."

"Only a little. I think we owe you some fun at our expense."

Indeed they did.

"Your betrothed is on his way. We can talk anytime you want, deal with the questions whenever you think of them."

I touched her warm hand. "Thank you. I might get angry or not. Whatever. But no matter how this pans out, thank you for taking such a risk for a people you aren't really part of. It's remarkable that you would."

I paused, on the cusp of saying more.

"Say it, Bella."

"It seems even more remarkable, from what I hear of him, that Alistair would be involved in such an enterprise."

The delicate tones of her amusement swirled about the heady velvet of a laugh that I knew all too well.

"Bella makes a valid point, Gen."

He wrapped his blanket-laden arms around me from behind, the wash of bergamot and caramel warming me as much as the wool, melting me into him.

"Alistair's paranoia about the potential for the Volturi to misuse their power is one of his earliest memories from this life. He happened upon a member of the guard scouting an Italian girl and he never stopped trying to undermine their recruiting. He tells the story in a way I could never do justice, but that's the broad strokes of it. His motives began as self-serving but evolved over time."

"And your mother?"

"Her near miss with them cemented her dedication to Alistair's cause."

"I can see how that would come to be."

I wanted to probe more, but Jake called us to eat.

At the sound of his bellow, Gen's face came alive, softened by a warmth I hadn't seen before. She jogged over to him and I had to look away as their two silhouettes melted together.

* * *

Gen, Edward and the wolves battle-readied themselves for what lay ahead in their path, while I did the same thing in mine. It was clear that they considered Gen one of their own without reservation. Aro was not simply the vampires' problem.

My time in Forks was Charlie-centric. With Alice's help I cooked for him, filling his freezer with rock-solid chunks of my affection that he could see, smell, taste and touch, ready to be thawed at a moment's notice.

I had no idea when or in what condition I'd return. Charlie would certainly be part of my wedding but would I ever return to Forks? I just couldn't think about it yet, though I knew I had to decide when and under what circumstances I wanted my excruciating transition to take place.

When the time came to fly to Renee's I kissed my father (a gesture I knew he'd remember if only for its rarity) and bawled on the plane. Edward murmured and soothed, but never tried to interfere, his inaction speaking volumes in contrast with the past months of silent manipulation. By the time our plane touched down in Florida I'd put myself together.

We arrived in true Cullen style, at four in the morning under the cover of darkness and dense fog. Lazy gray camouflage ambled in contentedly from the Atlantic, growing fat on the waves and swelling further in the humid air. Alice said it would burn off at noon.

The Cullens insisted that they couldn't intrude upon the precious time Renee would have with me and checked into a nearby hotel. After breakfast, Alice and Jasper feigned exhaustion and slipped away.

The inquisition began almost immediately.

"How long has this been brewing, Bella? Have you been seeing Edward the entire time you were in London and just not told me?"

"No. He arrived months after me."

"You two were never an item in high school? I remember hearing your name, Edward."

"I told you, Mom. Never. I had a class or two with Alice, but Edward moved away not long after I started at Forks."

"It's just that the coincidence of you two meeting up in London, doing all this research and traveling together, it's so romantic. It's like something from a novel."

Edward played intercessor with such finesse. "It does sound like fiction, but seeing is believing. In fact, I would still be playing guessing games if not for Bella."

"I wish I could take some credit for her, but she was born all grown up. I've just been along for the ride."

"That's not true, Mom. Every interest I've ever had, you have supported. And think of all the things I would never have been exposed to if not for you: experimental vegan food, performance art, intergalactic basket weaving…or whatever."

Renee had stifled a giggle when I mentioned all the things she'd exposed me to. The basket weaving put her over the edge.

When she caught her breath she said, "That's not exactly how I remember that class."

"The man compared the 'vessel' you were creating to dreamcatchers, the only difference being that you might snag E.T. You can call it whatever you want."

"So when you two have a family, you are going to continue this fine tradition of exposing your offspring to things off the beaten path, or will I have to do it?"

Oh. Well-played, Renee. Very well-played.

Edward rushed to my rescue again. "You seem to be the expert. I can't imagine one of us doing a better job."

"Fair enough. And I'm not going to be performing that role in half a year or so, am I?"

"I'm not pregnant, Mother. I'm just—" _What? I'm just what?_

"Head over heels. That's plain enough. I just thought I'd make sure."

"While I have you both here, I should take the opportunity to say something." There it was, that penitent angel's face that could bring about world peace and an end to crow's feet with the bliss it exuded.

Edward continued. "I love your daughter very much, Renee, and I need to confess something. I think I might have been in love with her from the first day I saw her at Forks High, but I was young and dumb and had no idea what I'd happened upon. And while I think Bella might be all the better for the time we both had to grow, I regret that I never came back to make something happen, that I let it happen to me. I promise I won't be so careless with her ever again."

During his little speech, he'd taken my hand though I didn't notice. What I did notice was that both my Mom and I had teared up. She ran her hand through his hair and whispered something I couldn't hear in his ear.

He smiled weakly, her tear on his jaw.

* * *

I insisted on making up the sofa for Edward, with my Mom's reluctant help.

"He can stay in the guest room with you, Bella. You're not a child and I'm not Charlie."

Refusing to make eye contact with Renee, I kept my head down and carried on with my pillow-fluffing. "He's very old-fashioned, Mom. It might make him uncomfortable."

"If you say—wait. How old-fashioned, Isabella Marie? Like, I-don't-want-to-make-your-parents-uncomfortable old-fashioned, or my-daughter's-still-a-virgin old-fashioned?"

_For the love of all that's holy, please let the ground swallow me now. _

"A little bit of both."

She narrowed her eyes at me, looking for all intents as if I were glaring at myself. "There's no such thing."

"Can we drop it?"

"My mothering responsibilities include having 'the talk' with you."

"Which you did about a decade ago. Well done, you."

The sarcasm was a dead giveaway that I was outrageously uncomfortable and she relented. "Are you nervous?"

"I've been trying to get his clothes off for weeks now."

The wickedest smile bloomed like a weed on her face before she plucked it at the root, replacing it with something barely less amused but far more domesticated. "He's easy on the eyes. It would be a shame if a boy so chased after were as easy to get into bed. Count yourself lucky, since he probably doesn't have a ton of baggage."

The idea of a century's worth of romantic baggage loomed in my imagination. I'd never though of it that way before.

"Indeed."

"Have you been even mildly successful?"

I blushed, probably answer enough. "Very mildly."

The idiot smile gracing my features was perfect punctuation to that sentence. Renee refolded the linens meant for the couch and placed them back in the closet before winking at me on her way to the door.

She turned when her hand touched the knob. "Must be fun trying from the look on your face."

It was impossible that Edward hadn't heard that exchange, even with all the ruckus he and Phil were making over the basketball game.

When he slipped into bed with me, he removed all doubt. "Your mom is an altogether different species of mother than I expected. I see where you get the razor sharp intuition, though."

"I'm so sorry. We were so close when I lived with her, but I thought that the years living separately would've reintroduced some privacy barriers. I guess not."

"I allow no one but you privacy. To say that this has been enlightening is a massive understatement. And as for me, I don't deserve any special treatment. Who haven't I intruded upon?"

"There's just no filter."

"I think it's refreshing."

"I'm glad someone does."

* * *

Leaving Renee was less difficult than leaving Charlie. Her life seemed so full, her support system so readily available. We hugged and kissed and cried and promised to stay in better contact. She and Alice had already conspired about the real wedding and I loved Alice all the more for it.

I boarded our private plane and something clicked into place, a final pin fell unlocking my entire life. I'd been waiting these last weeks, searching, wondering. Now my real life could begin.

Whatever thought had caused such an alignment, the echo of it clattering into place was heard in Alice's vision of my future. Of our futures.

"Get out of my head, Edward Cullen, or you'll spoil everything." She clasped me tightly around the middle. "I love you. You two should do this trip alone."

Jasper smiled broadly. "Are you asking me to take you to the beach?" As his wife nodded enthusiastically, he leaned over to kiss me on the cheek. "You will be the prettiest bride Scotland has ever seen."

I was trying to remember if he and Alice had ever said vows on Scottish soil and looked up to see her shaking her head ever so slightly.

All I could manage was, "Very diplomatic, Jasper."

"It's true, honey. You'll give new meaning to 'blushing bride,' I think."

He and Edward exited the plane together.

Alice embraced me again. "It's beautiful. I won't spoil anything, but it's going to be a gorgeous day for the two of you."

"Thank you for getting everything together."

"As if I had the restraint to not do it. I'll see you in London." She kissed me on the cheek and slipped out the door.

My fiancé replaced her before I could even wish it to be so.

* * *

**_Author's Note: _**Danni and Clementine waded through multiple drafts, a small gulf of tequila and much whining on my part to get this chapter shipshape. My eternal devotion to them both.

Much of this chapter was written under the influence of my new flavor of the month, Fourteen Hands' _Hot to Trot_. If you like cabernet, do try it. Yummy.

Obviously this story will not be continuing forever, though in my head these characters have woven themselves in and out of history from the Enlightenment to the drafting of the Constitution and the French Revolution to the Cuban missile crisis. I won't string you all along for all that. This time of year, my free time is eaten up with volunteer coaching at a local high school. Our season ends in April and I will promptly be required to attend the birth of my nephew (I'm so very excited).

There has been a great deal of story-pulling drama recently and I have neither the time nor the inclination to jump in the fray. All I can account for are my own words. _Meta_ is too tied up in the Twilight mythology to stand on its own and will not be pulled so that I can undertake the monumental task of deconstructing and reconstructing it for such a venture. I began this as a new writer, as a means of testing the water and will leave it on FF for the very kind people who have read and encouraged as long as I have an account. The process has been very literally mind-altering.

*giggle*

I will also be finishing this tale, slow though I may be.

I hope you are all prepared to attend a wedding. I have my dress all picked out.

Thank you for the reviews and speculation. I LOVE the speculation. It is definitely the highlight of my day.

xo


	29. Chapter TwentyEight

_Disclaimer: _The Twilight Saga_ and its characters belong to Stephenie Meyer. No billowing curtains here. Just saying._

* * *

**When last we left our lovebirds, they were departing the States to elope in Gretna Green:**

_Leaving Renee was less difficult than leaving Charlie. Her life seemed so full, her support system so readily available. We hugged and kissed and cried and promised to stay in better contact. She and Alice had already conspired about the real wedding and I loved Alice all the more for it._

_I boarded our private plane and something clicked into place, a final pin fell unlocking my entire life. I'd been waiting these last weeks, searching, wondering. Now my real life could begin._

_Whatever thought had caused such an alignment, the echo of it clattering into place was heard in Alice's vision of my future. Of our futures._

_"Get out of my head, Edward Cullen, or you'll spoil everything." She clasped me tightly around the middle. "I love you. You two should do this trip alone."_

_Jasper smiled broadly. "Are you asking me to take you to the beach?" As his wife nodded enthusiastically, he leaned over to kiss me on the cheek. "You will be the prettiest bride Scotland has ever seen."_

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Eight**

Our plane changed altitude. I could feel us closing in on solid ground. I'd fallen asleep after lunch and dreamt of Edward walking with me along some rocky shoreline in Scotland, waves crashing all around us while we kissed in a grotto. In my dream I could look down and with my near-perfect vision see our bodies intertwined, the spray on our skin catching every bit of the scant sunlight.

This landing placed us one step closer to sealing that reality. Before we disembarked, Edward offered me a coat and I braced myself for the wet cold I'd fled in such haste but a few weeks before.

He paused awkwardly in front of the cabin door and half-turned—to speak to me I assumed. I couldn't be sure because he wouldn't turn his body completely or raise his face to me at first. Nervousness seemed unlikely for my husband-to-be even though all indicators were pointing that direction. "I've arranged for a short detour, if that's alright with you…." His voice trailed off, almost but not quite a question.

"To where?"

Continued hesitation from him only intrigued me all the more. "Well, _here_. But there's…still a bit of a surprise, if you don't mind humoring me for a minute more. We are well south of Scotland, I will say that much."

_Why so nervous, Mr. Cullen?_ "I love your surprises. Can I have a clue?"

He considered my request for a moment. "We'll need a helicopter."

I pushed back my usual discomfort with the showy display of the Cullens' wealth. "'We' or me?"

Having rediscovered his self-possession now that our respective roles were back to the status quo, he chuckled, smug once again in the most exasperating way.

The chopper was already waiting and we slid right in. Edward promptly blindfolded me.

I whispered, certain only he could hear me over all the noise. "You really meant the secret part, didn't you?" Fingers teasing the nape of my neck were his idea of a response.

The conversation between Edward and the pilot was lost to me as I mulled over this surprise for our entire trip. Our entire _very short_ trip, I should say. Before I could come up with anything better than my husband-to-be showing me a potential honeymoon location, we'd landed.

Edward handled me like an egg when lifting me down and left the blindfold in place until I could no longer feel the windstorm of helicopter blades.

"It's overcast here but bright enough that you won't want to open your eyes all at once."

I parted my lids until I could see some faint light filtering through my still-tangled lashes. I'd slept soundly on the flight and then landed somewhere other than where I expected; to say that I was disoriented was a serious understatement. _South of Scotland?_ That described most of the globe. Weak sunlight and clouds made it possible for the time to be dusk or dawn…somewhere between the two evenings. The unfamiliar smells, the warm air without a hint of humidity, the sound of a bird I didn't recognize—everything about my location would require further investigation. Why were we even here?

I floated in a surreal haze, someplace not quite dreaming though not yet awake.

"I'm going to carry you somewhere nearby, Bella. It will save us some time so I don't lose the light. You usually close your eyes…I was hoping you could do the same this time so you don't spoil your surprise."

My cheeks already burned and ached from smiling yet my grin broadened. "In for a penny…."

He chuckled and backed up to me. I wrapped my arms around him tightly before he lifted me up and took off. The wind felt exhilarating. I'd never enjoyed him running with me but I reveled in this trip.

We slowed to a stop. "Are we here?"

"Yes. You can open your eyes all the way now, love."

I could tell that we were in shadow and blinked my eyes wide open as if I were clearing away years of dust.

When my vision cleared, there was Edward on one knee in front of me. My heart clenched and stuttered, knowing immediately what this was, though my head couldn't yet put words to it. Hot tears distorted his silhouette.

"Isabella Marie Swan, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?"

My thought-hearing man, he knew the answer. Our nuptials were planned; I was a sure thing. He'd seen _something_ from Alice to indicate our future, if not our actual wedding day.

Even knowing he didn't need to ask me to get the answer, in the face of such a proposal, I barely managed a whispered reply. My throat felt as if it wasn't up to the task. "You know I will."

"Not until _you_ say so. I love you, Bella. Will you marry me?"

And still the words wouldn't come.

"I will get down on both knees, if you need me to…."

I grabbed both his hands to prevent him. "Of course I will."

I noticed the telltale velvet box as he stood. In all our rushing and supernatural espionage, formalities like a proposal and a ring seemed trivial. Afterthoughts, even.

He slid the ring on my hand only just before he brought his lips to mine, a kiss that held all the weight of the contract he'd obsessed over back in London. And wasn't this what it was all about? Just the two of us, a ring, a promise? My head was still spinning when I opened my eyes again.

I remembered to ask only after he kissed me. "Why did you have to propose here? And where is 'here' for that matter?"

A broad grin lit his features. "I knew you'd ask soon enough. 'Here' is a tiny piece of the Canary Islands. I wanted to bring you here now because as excited as I am about giving you your wedding present, I didn't want to interrupt our honeymoon for it."

"_You're_ my wedding present, Edward."

He narrowed his eyes and smirked before handing me a rolled up piece of what felt like parchment paper tied by navy ribbon. "Consider this a means of having me all to yourself anytime you want." A map of what I assumed was the island we were standing on took up the entire surface. I could only assume because it could've been any island. It had no name.

"This is all yours. The nearest island is almost twenty kilometers away. The ruined fortress is the only structure and I was hoping we could build a place here when this mess settles out."

I could hear the sea behind me and turned to look at it, to let the scene soak in. Years of this view stretched out before me and I was suddenly overcome by a feeling of belonging, of finally having permanence and family tradition. Building something together seemed like just the start.

We had a picnic dinner in our crumbling pile—well, one of us picnicked—and then flew on to Scotland. I might have interested my fiance in just a nibble of dessert.

* * *

More than a quarter of a millenium ago, England passed a law requiring all married couples under the age of twenty-one to have parental consent to be married. Their wild neighbor to the north, Scotland, had no such legal red tape standing between two lusty teens and a marriage bed. In fact they wanted little more than being able to say, "marry us." Boys (and I do mean boys) had to be fourteen, whilst their ladies could be as young as twelve. They were under no obligation to even leave their dolls at home, just to put the toys down long enough for the ceremony.

I couldn't even think about it in current social contexts. I just kept telling myself that it was a different era and life expectancy was drastically lower than now. The age of consent now was practically middle-aged then.

No banns had to be read, no marriage license needed to be acquired. A clergyman didn't have to do the deed for it to be binding. A blacksmith would work, and many times did, marrying couples over his no-doubt still hot and dirty anvil. Hot and dirty—the irony.

In more ways than one, I felt that Edward and I had to run off and get married away from prying eyes. We were under seemingly constant scrutiny. The more I learned about Gen and Sophie and Alistair and Aro, the more I believed that instinct, my first instinct, to be accurate. Getting married alone didn't actually guarantee our privacy, nor did I actually care for it to be guaranteed. Just the separation from our usual life was enough for me. What it did accomplish was to allow my focus to be where it should on that day, not on the periphery.

Each day the past seemed less and less like something in my rearview mirror. My present deserved my undivided attention for a short while.

We arrived at our little house and Edward allowed me to touch nothing. He promised that it was just for expedience and would not be a habit. The first part was certainly true. Our luggage was in the house and appropriated with a haste that surprised me, even though I'd seen his speed in action before.

He drew me a bath overflowing with bubbles and actually sat with me while I soaked, his eyes carefully averted from any bared skin.

"Have you thought about tomorrow?" Maybe some conversation would help him relax.

"Only every single moment since Alice saw us getting married here."

"Do you know anything that I should be warned about? Will there be a mountain of objections from jilted red-eyed girls? Although I'm sure Alice would've taken care of the security if that were going to be the case…."

Chuckling, he reached down to splash me. The bubbles obscured just enough that he saw my hand reach for him just a moment too late to withdraw. I saw it, the fear, and knew that taking him by surprise would be something he would at best, not be able to enjoy and at worst…well, I needed to be alive for tomorrow to be my wedding day.

I handed him my washcloth. "Can you wash my back? I don't want to miss anything before such a big day…."

He tucked me in and helped me fall asleep despite myself. The familiar scent of dessert and Earl Grey teased me from sleep and I turned to reach for my husband. It was my wedding day—calling him that wasn't premature anymore and the thought warmed me from the inside out.

My hand met thick paper on an empty mattress. The room, however, was not empty.

I had expected someone to organize the day's affair, perhaps a bespoke gentleman with a clipboard or a chipper little woman with a headset. Instead, my eyelids fluttered open on my wedding day—"my wedding day," I wanted to say it over and again—and my breath caught in my throat at the sight of my wedding planner. All my wondering about how Alice could guarantee the day went off without a hitch, keep Edward away long enough to allow me to get ready (she'd been through so much trouble to keep the dress a secret) and keep me safe enough to satisfy him, all of it evaporated. The answer to all of those worries, swathed in dark silk, stood at the foot of my bed. Her hair was arranged intricately, but more about it I couldn't say in the dim light. Her skin—her bare arms and collarbone, her face—seemed to be lit from within. The night crowned a star this time, caressed her skin like midnight gossamer, spun and coiffed only to frame her perfect face.

"Good morning, Sophie."

"Good morning, Bella. Happy wedding day."

My mouth stalled out, all the questions rushing towards the same place flooding my motor. It was early and I wasn't warmed up yet. I tried to blink my eyes open and when I was finally successful, I found Sophie kneeling by my shoulder.

She laid a hand on my arm. "Today is not about me…or Aro or Gen or Alistair for that matter. This day is about your union. I will answer any question, talk about any topic you so choose, but at a later date. You may consider it a wedding present. But I won't delve into my sordid past unnecessarily on this day and take away from its real meaning, another wedding present. Does that sound fair to you? It's what you want, yes?"

"More than fair—and exactly what I want...so what has Alice planned for me today?" It occurred to me to read the note, the one still on my bed that I hoped was from Edward.

_I will wait until the sun is high in the sky if I have to._

_Always,_

_E_

"Alice has considerately left us with a very detailed itinerary. You are more than welcome to look it over…."

The time for my brain to ponder details with any success was hours away yet. "I'll just get the highlights from you, if that's alright."

Sophie nodded and gave me the pared-down version. "She has a 'Getting Ready' playlist. Your tea is made. I will do your hair and makeup. You have a small pile of wedding-day-appropriate lingerie to choose from. You are required to eat. The dress does not go on until we are ready to walk out the door." She smiled broadly.

"That's not too over-the-top."

"Given the source, it shows remarkable restraint. There are plenty of technical details: the part of your hair, the angle of your chin in photos, how many mimosas I may allow you…that sort of thing."

I chuckled. Was she joking?

"I'm stretching the truth just a bit. Let me get your tea; you're still practically asleep."

"I can get it." I began to pull the covers back.

"No. Alice was very specific about waiting on you hand-and-foot. Take your time, wake up, sip your tea and I'll get everything ready."

And she did.

She buffed and polished my toes and fingers while my hair sat arranged precariously atop my head, wound around giant rollers, and my face soaked in some candy-scented concoction. We chatted about Charlie and Renee and Edward and school and my wedding present, steering clear of too much discussion about her life, or any other too-serious topic.

"That ring, Bella, is just beautiful. It looks as if it were made with you in mind."

I smiled fondly at my newest appendage as if it had adorned my finger for decades already. "I love that it belonged to his mother. He has so little of his old life. I would wear it even if it were awful." But it wasn't awful. The center oval diamond was surrounded by a lacework of platinum that seemed to hold the stone up like a tiny offering. The diamond itself wasn't perfectly white—it had a faint cast of pink, as if it might be blushing.

Sophie smiled sweetly. "You know he'd never do that to you."

"I think I want to do it for just that reason: he'd never ask. He'd never have to."

Sophie slid the silk column up my body and buttoned every button in a flash. She wrapped my shoulders in navy and purple tartan. I stepped into my Cinderella shoes, if Cinderella had developed a modern fondness for plum Louboutins. Sapphires dangled from my ears and sparkled in my hair, gifts from my new in-laws and my parents, respectively, though only the Cullens were aware I'd been given their present. My parents would think I received them when I had a ceremony that involved them later.

By six in the morning, I was tucked into a car chasing the dawn and my groom.

We didn't have to drive far before I realized our destination, or more precisely, spotted our destination. From the crest of the first hill I could see most of the surrounding countryside—the fields still veiled in wispy fog, parting occasionally to reveal the facades presiding over them. As we topped another, there were no longer multiple homes to see, just one ancient edifice. The old castle sat behind what must have been a moat but the haze rising from the water hid it from view. Buttresses merely caressed the old stone faces, in some places only just kissing the ancient walls they had once supported.

Our path led us around and I could see that much of the eastern side of the structure had been gone for decades. Since I could make out the warm glow in the exposed rooms from this far away, I could only imagine how many hundreds of candles Alice had deemed necessary for this day.

"Alice is correct, of course. Your skin and that dress will simply glow in this light. You are a lovely woman, Bella. All of this pomp is unnecessary to make you more beautiful but there are so few reasons for these old monsters to celebrate that we've enjoyed doing it. You do know that, yes?"

"Thank you, Sophie." I squeezed her cold fingers as the car came to a halt on the grass.

I stood just out of Edward's line of sight, behind an aged stony arch, looking out into the room I'd seen glowing as we approached. How had Alice found this pile? It was perfect. Every crumbling window and unstable pediment made me love it more.

Every time I stole a glance at Edward standing in the midst of all this gorgeous decay I had to catch my breath. I hoped that feeling would never go away and remembered Sophie—human Sophie—writing on just that subject. When I turned to ask her about it she was watching me. How much of myself had I left in my room for her to get to know? She'd been watching me long enough that even the residue of my thoughts in Forks and Seattle and London had exposed themselves to her. She'd been studying me longer than I'd been studying her! I chuckled and turned to ask something that we hadn't agreed to ignore for the day.

"Do you remember how it felt to look at an immortal when you were human?"

"Just barely. I've revisited the memories of other humans who've done it quite a few times. I think I get the gist of it but I don't have an unclouded memory of my human reaction to other vampires. My memories of the way I felt about Tristan are singularly distinct but I cannot imagine them to be typical…or unaided."

"I wonder if I'll ever look at Edward and not be a little overcome by how easy he is on the eyes. It's especially overwhelming when I haven't seen him for a while."

"Of course I have the inside track on some things and I can say with the utmost confidence that you are the most devastatingly beautiful creature he's ever come into contact with. You are perfectly suited."

There was plenty to distract me as we waited for Alistair to arrive and round out our wedding party. Walking the aisle unescorted was bad luck on this side of the world and he was just the charm to ward it off.

His tardiness clearly tried her patience. "I'm certain Alistair will be here momentarily."

"I'm not a big believer in luck, Sophie. We can do this without him if you think he might be a while."

Her irritation at Alistair vanished, replaced by amusement at my own impatience. Or what might prompt it. "No cold feet for you, I see. In a hurry to get through the formalities, dear?"

I could feel the color creeping up my neck and face. "I—um, well, maybe a little."

"That's the spirit. This is the first day of many more with this man. Don't start it as a shrinking violet. If you want something, tell him. He might be a mind-reader but sometimes he needs more than that."

"I am learning that lesson."

She arched a brow and her eyes darted to the side in concentration. "Finally. I hear him."

I heard nothing. Sophie turned towards what I assumed was Alistair's general direction, a maternal laugh bubbling from her beautiful lips and her fingers flying to cover the fount. I could hear Edward's soft chuckles echoing through the cavernous room beside us.

"What am I missing?"

"Alistair has borrowed something to make sure you are missing nothing on this blessed day, my darling friend." She grinned, one side of her mouth upturned wryly.

At a disadvantage in the scant predawn twilight, I could just see him loping through the shadowed hall, carrying something roughly the size and shape of a suitcase. The closer he got, the less it looked like a suitcase. In fact, he held it around the middle like a trophy. A gift?

He approached and bowed with economy—did he just click his heels?—a silent acknowledgement that he knew we were holding up the big show for him. "M'lady, I've come bearing a gift of sorts. It will await you at the altar."

After kissing my hand delicately and Sophie on the cheek less so—as if he'd like to go back for more—he hurried up the aisle. He was only out of my sight for a moment before returning and offering me an arm. "'Tis bad luck to walk the aisle alone, Miss Swan."

"So I've been told. I've pushed my luck enough recently that I don't think I believe in it anymore. But I would be honored for you to escort me down the aisle. In fact, as much as you've had to do with getting me here, I think it's perfectly fitting." I stood on my tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek.

"I like the way you see things, Miss Swan."

I smiled and nodded at the wedding planner.

"Of course." She nodded at the cellist and the music changed to Bach's Cello Suite Number One. "You are a stunning bride. May happiness follow you like a flea-ridden mongrel."

Her gaze traveled briefly from my face to Alistair's as if he might be her very own "flea-ridden mongrel" and I couldn't help but smile as she walked away.

"Don't let me fall, Alistair. These shoes are beautiful deathtraps."

"I can certainly keep you upright that long. Are you ready?"

"Yes."

The cellist stilled her instrument momentarily and I knew this was it.

I never thought about my feet or tripping over my hem or the cold once we took that first step, gliding across the stones to "The Swan." I made eye contact with Edward and didn't look away as Alistair guided me through what seemed like a thousand paces to get to him. Because of that, I didn't notice the hunk of metal until I was practically on top of it.

When I looked back up from examining the thing, Edward and Alistair were grinning proudly. I couldn't help but laugh a little. "Of course you brought an anvil. What Gretna Green elopement is complete without one?"

Edward took my hand and we stood facing an amber-eyed officiant across the anvil. Why wouldn't I be married by a vampire?

As he began to speak, I noticed that he seemed very young—too young to be performing weddings—and suppressed my amusement at the bizarre combination of people this union created.

In what seemed like seconds he was already asking me if I took this man for all of my existence. There was no hesitation, no line of spurned lovers looking to consume me and, disappointingly, no pause button.

The vows were spoken, the rings exchanged, in a dreamlike haze of candlelight and fog. It would be over so quickly.

Edward didn't release my fingers once the rings were exchanged. From the moment he slid on the band, I have this memory of him playing with the fingers on my left hand, watching me as if I were the most precious commodity to be had in all the world, only to be finished with, "Mister Cullen, you may now kiss your bride."

Edward whispered his lips over mine before kissing me properly. Our audience clapped and smiled fondly, their enthusiasm more than enough to make up for their small number.

* * *

I paced like a caged animal in the bedroom above my waiting husband, a man possessed of saint-like patience. That the room itself seemed like something out of a fairytale hadn't surprised me but took my breath away nonetheless. Tendrils of bergamot-scented steam lazed along the surface of the petal-strewn water. Candles played with the light, their flickering caressing the surface with shadows.

Even in this lushly perfect setting, my fears were taking hold.

Nervous wasn't the word for this moment but it kept popping to mind like an insistent little vermin, gnawing at every scrap of attention it could scavenge. I wanted nothing more than becoming Edward's wife in every sense of the word, nor had I for some time, so why couldn't I brush my worries aside and do that?

Try as I might, I couldn't make myself choose an end to world hunger or Aro's destruction over immediately consummating my most unusual union. Let those polar bear cubs fend for themselves—not that I couldn't see a certain symmetry in our predicaments. Yet I remained in my dressing room, recounting the reasons doing so could be a mistake.

I'd pushed for so long. What if he pushed himself too far simply because he felt obligated to give me a stereotypical wedding night (morning, in our case) and bit me? What if sex with a human wasn't all it was cracked up to be? Or what if it turned out to be the greatest thing ever and he wouldn't want to consider turning me? I might not even have a clue what to do once I got his clothes off…okay that option I could probably rule out.

Alone with my fears, I was dying a slow death—a number of them in fact. I'd already imagined a few colorful ends to my own life, scarlet being the primary hue. I knew I had to stop myself from freaking out but couldn't figure out how to do it.

My thoughts were racing, circling the drain, when I felt the tug of something familiar. Or rather, heard something familiar that caused a pull I'd felt dozens of times. I'd yet to begin unbuttoning my dress or even unpinning my hair, but I opened the door anyway to follow the strains of my lullaby down the massive stairs. My nerves skittered off to the corners.

Edward didn't look up as I approached but he had to know I was watching. He always knew. His tux jacket had been placed carefully across a chair, a contrast to the bowtie and recently disheveled hair left in roguish disarray. A little sunlight peeked in from between the thick curtains and danced along the surface of his profile, playing in the almost-red locks like the corona of an eclipsed sun.

His fingers slowed to silence as I grew nearer. "You should be unwrapped like the present that you are...sooner rather than later. It took all my willpower to let you walk away once, Mrs. Cullen. I'm sorry to say that I'll finally learn how to tell you no if you try to walk up those stairs alone another time. I won't wait to be summoned."

It took a moment for me to find my voice. What was there to say to that anyway?

And why the hell had I wanted a moment alone in the first place?

"I couldn't do it again…the shoes, you know." I raised my leg, letting my heel rest briefly on his thigh.

"Yes. Of course."

He held my calf and stood, no care for my personal space evident as he skimmed his nose and lips from my collarbone to my temple. The hand supporting my leg made its way beneath my thigh, a finger playing with the garter strap there. This Edward was new to me. That wasn't a complaint, but it was an adjustment. He needed no coaxing. I had to recalibrate, a silent adjustment I made with no little glee.

My hands slid from his arms to his neck and pulled his mouth to mine. We passed the point where he would usually pull away, passed it and then some, when he picked me up gently. "I'd like to take a peek at my wedding present now, if that's okay."

"Please."

He carried me to our room, my legs to one side of his waist and my torso almost flush with his, not taking his mouth away from mine. Even after he put my feet on the ground, I had a hard time orienting myself, distracted by the cool lips teasing my neck and spine. I felt his fingers move to the buttons on the back of my dress. Each inch of skin exposed by a button undone he immediately covered with his mouth, an adoration he repeated for each tiny pearl unleashed from its silken noose. At the base of my spine the buttons, and his mouth, came to a halt. He carefully skimmed his hands inside the silk and up my sides, peeling the layer away delicately and then sliding the entire garment to the floor in a pool of cream. I wanted to turn around and put my hands on him but in the heels and with the dress obscuring the floor, I didn't dare budge.

Edward's hands seemed to float over my stomach and hipbones, content to leave the straps and lace of my corset and garter belt in place. Content? That certainly didn't seem like the Edward who'd carried me up the stairs. Each brush of a mouth or finger left me less and less _content_ to remain in place.

His fingers teased my nipples through the boning and lace until I could stand no more. Quite literally, in fact. Done standing still, I tried to turn around despite the obvious reasons not to.

Before my stumble could really even be classified as such, Edward scooped me up and transplanted me just a few feet away. In front of a bed, _our_ bed, conveniently enough.

A laugh, low and velvety against the skin of my neck, made me smile. I could feel him shaking his head. "You weren't nervous at all, were you?"

"No...well yes. Nervous about falling, not about anything else. I was stuck like an insect in sap. I couldn't get my feet out of that dress—which was about to turn into a funeral pyre if I spontaneously combusted."

"I was doing that well, huh?"

"Except for leaving me upright, I'd say you were doing pretty damned well."

"Why would you complain about being upright?"

In a flash he'd crouched in front of me, his fingers stroking the indentation of my waist, his lips kissing my bellybutton. I laughed. "No complaints. No complaints. Stand up here and let me unwrap my wedding present, Mr. Cullen." I pulled his collar with both hands and he rose, slowly, only just rubbing against me as he crept upright. The tease.

Free of the purple stilettos, I had to stand on my tip-toes to liplock Edward—no mean feat when you factor in unbuttoning his shirt—so the unbuttoning was tortuously slow. He began prying his feet out of his shoes while I navigated the clothing on his torso, making no pretense of avoiding the not-so-subtle curve beneath his fly. I let my hand graze it more than once. Untucked and unbuttoned, suspenders cast aside, it was time to tug his arms out of his sleeves.

We remembered his cufflinks only _after_ the sleeves of his shirt were inside-out like Chinese handcuffs.

"I'm really not trying to rush." I giggled.

"I really have taken off my shirt before." As he went to work on the cufflinks, first bending up one arm and then the other before shrugging the whole shirt off, I kept thinking that I'd put it back on him a dozen times just to watch him take it off again.

_Mr. Cullen will be getting cufflinks for his anniversary._

There was something that said "business" about the practiced way he unclasped and put away the little pieces of metal. Business time Edward was deliciously hot.

I dragged him forward, reeling him in by the waist of his tuxedo pants and set about removing them while he kissed me. His mouth had always been a distraction but never so thoroughly. My neck arched into his lips, making these noises slide from my throat unbidden and bogging down my efforts to simply lower his damn zipper. It didn't take the eternity that it seemed to, it couldn't. By the time I was successful, I wanted to pull off his trousers and boxers in one trip.

The boxers, they found themselves, um, hung up.

From my crouch I was eye level with the one thing keeping those boxers from sliding to the floor. I freed Edward from the last garment separating him from me and found us once again eye-to-eye, as it were.

Curling my fingers very gently around Edward's shaft, I brought the tip to my mouth and erased the tiny pearl of liquid I found by running my tongue over it. Of course even his taste would be a means of drawing me in like prey. I was caught anyway, why stop with such a tiny taste? In the now densely-quiet room I heard an inhale and a more measured exhale, so I looked up to see if we were okay.

_We are so much better than okay._

He watched devoutly, his faith in us not seeming to waver. I closed my eyes and took a little more of him in my mouth, all heat and satin over the hardness.

Before I could settle into a rhythm he pulled at my arm and whispered. "You're not even properly undressed. Come here."

I wanted to drink him up, pull him in, absorb him. Drawing my mouth away wasn't what I wanted and I wasn't quick about it. All of my actions had slowed, as if we were swimming in amber, immortalized by the very nectar we feasted on.

Seated on the edge of the bed, he pulled me into his lap to unsnap my garters and the hook-and-eye closures on my back. I was acutely aware of my bare backside against his skin.

Holding the silk and lace over my chest, I stood. Without dropping it, I offered him a leg. He didn't need more of an invitation and slid the stocking down my thigh, my calf, my ankle. When I extended a second foot, he brought his hands to the top of my leg and not-so-accidentally grazed the scrap of silk there. I realized that I was throbbing, dying to be touched more. Coy was about to be thrown out the window.

Taking a step back, I smiled my last shy smile. My modesty martyred herself along with it.

Edward responded with a new crooked grin—one the looked as if it might have a secret or two—and opened his beautiful mouth to speak. Whatever reassurance he was about to offer stopped short when I pulled my arms away from my body just a hair and the garment they held fell. I slid the straps of the itty, bitty baby panties down my legs, a tiny gossamer thread of moisture breaking against the skin as I pulled them away. There were probably oceans that could be described as less wet than this.

I was entirely naked and not pressed up against him, finally not afraid of him examining me. Why was I still so far away from him? While I should've been self-conscious, I was nothing of the sort, emboldened by the insistent throbbing that continued to beg for my attention…for _his_ attention. It coincided with the meter of my heart but I knew better than to place the blame there.

I'd never placed my knees on either side of Edward's lap without denim, silk, cotton, nearly impenetrable layers of fabric separating us. So when I put my uncovered legs over his and the smooth hardness of his erection slid against me, I gasped at the contact. And then rubbed against it again. My mouth crashed desperately into Edward's while he moved us farther into the bed.

Vampire strength wasn't all bad. We could make the more difficult entries in the Kama Sutra look like napping. Well, I sure as hell wouldn't be sleeping.

Edward's mouth ventured from my mine, a leisurely meandering south. As much as I loved the sensations he created, I was just dying for him to touch me _there_. He seemed to be doing anything but putting his mouth where I wanted it, kissing the fleshy white of my breast but not the rosier nipple, nibbling just inside my hipbone but never more than grazing the folds between my legs. On another occasion, I might've blamed it on waffling. He wasn't uncertain today.

This was an assault, deliberate in its planning and execution. With his perfect memory and years of sleepless nights, how long had he been planning this moment? I quivered at the thought.

When his tongue finally made contact with my puckered nipple, my eyelids shot open and I arched into his mouth. If the feeling of his tongue going to work on my overly-sensitized nerves there wasn't enough, the sight of his mouth on my breasts was. A whimpering little moan made him aware of my approval and he looked up at me through his lashes.

What a wicked, wicked smile.

The pad of his thumb replaced his tongue and he began kissing his way down the inside of my arm, lingering in the crook of my elbow and at my wrist. He placed my hand gently on the bed and I realized why almost immediately. He brought his mouth down a few inches below my bellybutton and began kissing lower and lower and to the left…I wanted to scream. Or beg. I fisted the sheets.

When his hands abandoned my breasts, I must have whimpered a little protest because I felt him chuckle just a little.

Right before he slid his hands under my bottom and lifted my throbbing center to his mouth as if he were desperately bringing a double handful of water to his parched mouth. His tongue dipped into the cleft there and my hips arched into his face, overtaken by a sensation so agonizingly sweet that it almost hurt.

How could he know to do that?

As he lingered, I felt the bed beneath me, the floor it sat on, my world on its meager axis, shifting. As if it all might spin off into oblivion at any moment. I cast my hands for something, anything, to grip as my hips rocked into Edward.

I squeezed his hands even as they bit into my own bottom, something solid to center me in all of the slower-than-honey rolling that the world seemed to do around me. A quickening of sensation traveled the unseen thread that connected my nipples to that now-sacred space Edward's mouth occupied, and the muscles at the base of my stomach began to tighten.

It all unfurled and it seemed that every bit of feeling on the surface of my skin originated from that firebrand. My grip on Edward's hands seemed to be the only thing that kept me tethered. They were the first thing I felt when I began to settle down.

He crawled on his elbows toward me, eyes now like molasses, and rolled us so that I rested atop him. He kissed my mouth and then spoke into my hair as he kissed the crown of my head. "I think you might have bruised my fingers."

"Proud of yourself, sailor?"

He stopped and I looked down at him, afraid he wasn't up to joking about this yet, only to find him grinning like the cat that ate…well. Grinning. And oh so proud of himself. I brought my mouth down to his again and tried to roll us over.

"You should set the pace for this, Bella. I've been thinking about it for a while."

"Me too. Sometimes I'm on top. Sometimes we're in the bathtub. Sometimes—"

He cut me off with a velvet laugh. "I mean _now_, you little vixen. Putting me on top of you is an unnecessary risk."

I rubbed against his hard length and pushed myself up to straddle him. "I think I can muddle through."

"I hoped you might…just this once." His hands went to my breasts but as I began moving to slide him inside me they fell to the mattress, gripping a pillow.

"Look at me."

He showed some nervousness for the first time as he relinquished control to me, but he did as asked and kept his eyes on mine as I pushed onto him. I began slowly, testing the waters for both of us, sheathing his cold hardness in my wet heat. My own control seemed to waver where Edward's did not. Slow didn't last long and my thighs, unaccustomed to such effort, began to burn. I leaned forward to put my weight on his chest and just heard him murmur.

"God, you're beautiful."

I felt another orgasm building and just when I thought that my legs wouldn't make it, Edward put his hands at my hips to help me through. (The resulting thumb-shaped bruises on my hipbones made me smile every time I spotted them.)

He shuddered and arched his neck back with my name on his lips.

We stayed there for a while, my head on his chest, one leg hitched over his hip.

"I never wanted to hurt you. The thought never entered my mind. Your face when you were on top of me—I wouldn't have been able to do anything to ruin that."

"I love you."

"I love you, too. I'm sor—"

I put my fingers over his lips to stop his unnecessary apology. "Nope. You're not ruining my buzz here. It was everything I'd hoped for and I won't let you even talk about anything else."

"Of course. You know, I could watch you like that, all red-cheeked and disheveled with me inside you, for a very long time."

"My legs aren't up to it."

He chuckled and the lazy curlicues I couldn't sleep without began in a new spot, on the back of my thigh.

* * *

When I woke from my nap, Edward scooped me up and carried me back to the piano.

I took in the room at large, now complete with a full spread on the table nearest the instrument. "I think you lied to me."

He looked cut to the heart. "Never."

"You couldn't have watched me the entire time I slept." I eyed the spread of lunch near the piano bench significantly.

He chuckled, clearly relieved. "You always catch me. But I couldn't listen to your poor stomach rumble all that time and do nothing about it."

Lunch was a lovely idea. Really. I forgot my gurgling stomach at the sight of him in just a pair of pajama bottoms. That was more my idea of delicious. I kissed him hungrily, thinking of all the ways I could devour him, and put my hand on his waistband. No buttons, thank goodness.

Just a tug and the drawstring loosened its hold.

I stood while he took them off. "I can wait to eat my lunch."

"It's a damn good thing. You'll have to wait now." He slid a silken strap off one shoulder and kissed his way across to the other via my collarbones. When his teeth closed around the opposite strap, I liquefied.

He lowered the nightgown, sliding his hands down from my ribs to my knees before letting it fall to the floor on its own.

"You put a nightgown on me but nothing else?" I looked down my body as if a pair of panties were hidden somewhere.

"So no gown at all next time?" He pulled me back down to his lap.

In its defense, I should say that the piano bench groaned in protest when I lowered myself onto Edward. And then again multiple times as I did it over and over again. There were other moans and groans that drowned out those beneath us so we didn't pay them much mind until the wood split and ceased to support us.

Another solid endorsement for making love to vampires, because Edward simply stood up.

Rosy-cheeked and post-coital, I giggled. "That worked out after all."

"And here I was, hoping that was maybe a secret this little bench could keep."

"His existence has probably been outrageously uneventful for years. He could use a secret or two to liven it up, no doubt."

"No doubt. But now he'll spill the beans as soon as the proprietors walk in and see the imprints of my fingers above the splintered legs."

"Only if they line them up with the ones on my bottom, and I for one can keep a few secrets. At least where you and my bottom are concerned."

He kissed my nose delicately. "I should be more careful with you, no matter how much you insist."

"You really shouldn't." I took his bottom lip between my front teeth, pulling his face to mine, and returned his delicate kiss with something with a little more bite.

* * *

The package arrived three days into my blissful honeymoon, addressed to Mrs. Edward Cullen. Enclosed was an ornate, medieval-looking necklace of gold and various gems. It probably was medieval, given its source.

Included in the standard well wishes was an invitation to visit Aro in Volterra.

No one save the Cullens and our group of rebels knew about my wedding, much less the location of our honeymoon. Or so we thought. Without regard for the intended threat, I donned the little taunt—the necklace and nothing else—and hoped that my husband's memory of it could show Aro the lack of fear my own thoughts could not.

I replaced it on the velvet, still hot from my skin and damp with my sweat.

* * *

**_Author's Note:_ After all the "research" to get that lemon *just right*, I'm exhausted. **

**Thank for for all the reviews, emails, tweets, DM's, PM's and general harassment to get it in gear. Real life is doggedly persistent; I can't tell you how thankful I am that you all are even moreso.**

**Please drop me a line and let me know what you think. Posting is still terrifying, even after ALL this time. In about half a second I'll have a glass of something not appropriate for work in my hot little hand, helping me get rid of my nerves. **

**Clementine, every damn time I accept your insertion I'm reminded why I love you so.**

**xoEMC was my prereader and should be thanked my all for the details I would've glossed over. Em, thanks for clearing some time for me, love. **


	30. Chapter TwentyNine

**Disclaimer: The Twilight Saga and its characters belong to Stephenie Meyer.**

* * *

_For my darling Clementine, with an ache and a smile._

* * *

Closing the lid of the carved box—poached African ivory, crafted recently if I had to guess—I eased the door closed on my honeymoon as well. Aro had found us. Really we'd never lost him. Scotland lay nowhere near far enough from our troubles to avoid them for very long. The sounds of preparation had already begun but a room away, once-distant marching feet stomping in rhythm just beyond the door. Tying a robe around my middle, I girded myself and turned to help my husband pack, spinning right into him.

Edward loomed in the doorway, as he was wont to do, a speed bump at once darkly amused and mildly irritated with my bejeweled shenanigans. "Why did I not suspect you had something up your sleeve when you modeled that necklace in the nude?"

My lips twitched, failing to hold back a smirk as I extended my arms for inspection. "For obvious reasons: I had no sleeve. I don't know…maybe you were distracted by the baubles." The topaz glare, sparkling when presented with such a hybridization of his wife's supernatural ability to find trouble while trying to seduce him, made me feel his pain.

"I think the…ah…_baubles_ did distract me. Well, now Alice has seen Aro seeing it and we have some information about their game."

Poor, poor Alice. Modeling that necklace didn't exactly lead to us deciding which dresses it accessorized best.

"That is, of course, exactly what I wanted to happen." What I'd _wanted_ was to make a statement—to myself, to Edward, to anyone who ever happened to hear its echo in one of our memories—that my family is my own. My time with them would never be tainted by fear simply because a monster threatened us. Determined to keep the moment light and the darkness at bay, I gave Edward my best Evil Genius eyebrow raise. But somewhere my pants were on fire—not now, clearly, since my robe didn't need any under it—because I'd had not a plan, but a feeling forcing its way to the surface. Some combination of love and defiance made me feel unsinkable.

"Of course it is." Why was he playing with the sash on my robe? I'd only just put it back on. Whose pants was I just saying were on fire?

I swallowed, trying to push down the heat threatening to melt me from the inside out, one last attempt at focus. My meager self-distraction techniques were a garden hose, however, and nowhere near touching this nuclear meltdown. "You have details?"

"I do…."

I could feel him undoing me. "Maybe you could share them?"

"I think more clearly without all this itchy silk in my way." He was already clearing his thoughts. A few tugs, a shimmy and they were practically a clean slate, save the wisps clouding his thoughts about my ankles.

"Itchy. Yes. Very." There wasn't even a sentence in those three words.

Edward brought his index finger from the hollow of my throat, between my breasts, down my stomach. It halted at the sash sitting on my hipbones, the fabric in between skimmed apart. He hooked his finger around the knot and reeled me in by degree until I was pressed against him from rib to knee. Murmured words hit their mark softly as his lips ghosted against my earlobe, sinking in and making a nest. "At this moment, I might be angrier about the interruption of my honeymoon than Aro's centuries of maniacal despotism. When this is over, I will erase every trace of disappointment from my memory of it…and yours."

"I don't mind helping with that." Only a husband with superhuman hearing could've made out that whisper.

He pulled me into his arms, laughter washing over my face in tendrils of bergamot and vanilla. Fumes rising from a test tube concoction, distilled to disorient and disarm me alone. Chemical warfare with a target of one and I leaned in to examine the artillery.

"We need to get back to Allesworth sooner rather than later." More Earl Grey rolled off the lip of my favorite cup. I leaned in, a saucer tasked with catching every drop. His mouth opened to speak again, the words not even off his tongue before they came to light on my own. "But maybe I'll get you up to speed on the way. We don't have to work now."

A deep breath, hard to say whose, my exhalation now his breath in and his, mine.

"Mmmm. Can we 'not work' now? I'd like to put off saving the world for a moment here."

His face stilled in its descent back to my now-pout. "Is that what we're doing, love? Because I'm just in it to save my own private domain. If anyone else benefits, good for them."

The room behind him—all the indications of the universe in such need of a savior—became a speck on the horizon. My kingdom came into sharp focus, a layer of film peeled away with every rush of air. Our worlds overlapped.

Tides of breath passed between us, swelled up into my ribs and ebbed back to his. With each exchange, I became more aware of him alone, quivered expectant for his touch. My mouth hovered just beyond his, wisps of cold steam caressing my throbbing lips. I couldn't seem to understand why they weren't touching. It was the only thing I wanted; why couldn't I have it? We circled—he circled me and I followed, tethered. He was leading me with the sensations plaguing the swell of my lips. I wanted to place my overheated flesh against the welcome balm of his and he inched, he millimetered, toward the bed using my desire as a lead.

The strand of silk encircling my waist fell against my bared thigh. Edward's gaze fell to the sash, considering. In a delicious reversal of puppeteering, he raised his arm and the string followed. He commanded it to tread lightly over the center of my knee. As it crested my thigh, dancing along the prickly flesh, the path veered off to the pale skin inside until both limbs received identical lashings. I sucked in a breath and leaned ever-so-slightly into its path.

It retreated.

Edward circled me again, carefully holding the silk against my thigh. A bed encountered the backs of my knees. Even the furniture seemed under his spell.

I wanted him to instruct me, but realized that a warning would only dilute my contact high. He had no intention of telling me what I would do, what I wanted. He was just going to make me.

The assault of the sash began again, up my thigh and around my hipbone, bypassing completely the route I wanted it to take. A pouting huff from my nose only made Edward smile and exhale against my parted lips, another hit of my drug. He rounded my navel and descended the other thigh.

I brought my legs together for some friction but his knee barred the way. The hemmed end of fabric found itself in front of my mouth. Edward opened his mouth and I followed suit. A few inches of it pooled and, when Edward closed his mouth, mine eased shut around the end. He pulled his rabbit from my hat like a magician and lowered the belt again.

This ascent of my leg was cooler, a tiny bit heavier and intent on a target. I gasped when the wet silk grazed exactly where I wanted it to and tried to part my legs. Edward's iron legs were in my way again. I almost thought I heard a chuckle in his throat to accompany his ghost of a grin.

Words. He spoke. Which words evaded me.

Instead of repeating himself, he picked me up and laid me across the bed. My robe fell away and I watched as he made his own clothes follow suit. On all fours between my acutely parted legs, he whispered again. "Tell me what I'm going to do."

Edward had carefully reined in the lures that made him a successful predator. Until this, I'd never understood the dark depths outside my safe harbor, never knew what that beautiful scent could do when given out in more than a tiny whiff. Secondhand tales from Sophie's writings in no manner prepared me for being hunted, baited, commanded.

Briefly it registered that escalating this could bleed away my mortality in mere heartbeats. I understood and cast it off as more than fair payment for…I didn't even know what. Whatever the price, I was good for it. Just as quickly, Edward's spell brought me back.

A whimper and I gave vent. "The sash."

"What about it?"

"Finish."

"I'm finished playing with you."

His mouth was so near, so sweet, and I leaned in, not quickly enough. An exhaled sigh, a secret to keep me coming but he didn't allow more than a whisper of contact, if I hadn't hallucinated even that.

I nodded towards the water on the bedside table.

For a moment he looked concerned. "Do you need a drink?"

"Put the sash in it."

He didn't need another cue. A sleeted trail meandered up my thighs, his mouth following it exactly, nipping at my gooseflesh. I listened for a searing hiss when the first drop hit the hottest point at the apex of my thighs and trickled in a snowmelt between my lips, but only heard a throaty moan. The meager weight of the soaked fabric only briefly pacified. After a handful of excruciating slides, I pushed up on my elbows.

"Please."

"Please what?"

"Me."

He pushed inside me with the satisfying heft of my entire world behind him.

* * *

An afterglow like waking from the best of dreams, warmed me without the damper of disappointment and shame I'd grown used to in London, the burn that I'd come to expect from dreams so sweet.

"You've been holding out."

"I didn't know what would happen."

"I'm speechless. Or I was, I guess. That smell and the effect…you've always smelled that way but never quite so intensely, I guess? I'm having a hard time understanding why I've never been affected that way before. It was always there, right?"

"Chemically, our scent is more than just a smell. It's almost like a pheromone that has been amped up to guarantee a reaction from prey. When you breathe in so much of it so closely, you're getting the full force of a weapon designed to draw you in and make you pliable."

"Interesting." I smiled dreamily. "Ply me. Ply me at will."

"I like knowing you want _me_. It strokes the ego. Knowing that, it seemed fun to play with the extra features."

"That was the Director's Cut?"

"Something like that."

Even after the high had dissipated, I felt hazy and sleepy. "I might not be up to packing for a few minutes.

"You're packed."

In my bliss, I almost protested his too-innocent statement but decided to look around first. With my luggage nowhere in sight, the evidence attested to the fact that he'd had his way with me again while I slept.

"You conniving…_vampire_. Was that whole show just to decommission me long enough to pack more quickly?"

He leaned in, nose to nose with me for a few breaths. "A better use of our time, love. I'm not above doing it again to get my way. My inner monster and I are starting to come to terms."

The rumble came from my throat for once, and not Edward's.

* * *

On our return, Allesworth felt like the command bunker in a disaster movie, the one place in the entire world where I could acknowledge that, were we unsuccessful, the sky would indeed fall. To boot, Alice had intel. Of a sort. The sort that was subject to the whims of the parties involved but, for now, Aro had called off his massacre. He couldn't destroy every trace of evidence showing him for the evil shit that he was. In view of that, he'd slowed down the production of more. The beautiful mistress whispered, the flit of butterfly wings, about timing and her warlord was practically submissive, a hurricane blew out to sea.

The short-term plans coming from Volterra, Jane and Aro changed from moment-to-moment. One detail remained constant in the first glimpses. Aro and his merry men ended up at Allesworth on a misty day not long after the first shoots of grass appeared. Alice and I guessed that he thought changing his approach would throw us off—and on some level, not having weeks to plan an assault was an inconvenience. But each time he changed his mind, Alice's sight showed a different angle of the scene. Maybe he walked in from a different direction or she saw more landmarks when the decision firmed up.

We decided to change a few details of our own. Alice had been growing strawberries in the house. I moved them out to the orangerie. Armed with blowers and shovels, Edward, Rose and Emmett removed every bit of snow and ice from the house and garden. Within forty-eight hours we knew that he'd be at Allesworth on a day when the strawberries were just beginning to blush and there was ice on the front steps.

We had three weeks.

In Alice's visions a few things began to stabilize as we played with them. The Volturi came as a group and brought their guard, a rarity according to Carlisle, the entire group leaving Volterra, and it meant something that had never occurred before was about to happen. The weather was always miserable. Aro struck Marcus and Caius unsuspecting as Edward opened his mouth to speak. The wolves always rushed in and her vision went black.

Our plan needed some work. Working on it turned into playing with quicksilver, frustrating. Poisionous. Vampires did not wait well.

Rose had taken to playing with my hair, something new that gave us a chance for both hanging out and avoiding Alice's bottomless to-do list. There was not a chance I could keep up and Rose being interested in crown molding was not ever going to happen. The group as a whole—Alice, Jasper, Rose, Emmett, Jake, Gen, Edward and I—had hit a wall and we were conspicuously finding activities to occupy us. Rose's fingers braiding my locks was just one example.

I could hear Edward and Alice dueling on the new piano he'd just tuned, Bach to Rachmaninoff and back again. Emmett and Jasper were playing chess not far from where I sat.

"They're all coming." Something had firmed up for Alice. "The whole family—the wives, the guard…all of them will be here."

"Why _all_ of them?" Rose seemed unconvinced.

"Didn't we already know that?" Even my imperfect memory caught that detail.

Edward shook his head. "We knew that just the brothers and their guard would travel. Now their wives and all the residents of Volterra are coming to Allesworth under the guise of wishing us well."

Alice's face was still a blank mask, one that every eye in the room wished had a ticker at the bottom. Every eye but Edward.

"They don't leave Volterra, not all of them, not even when things with the southern rebellion were at their worst, not even when they hunted immortal children." Jasper was hoping for a precedent, an indicator of what to expect from them.

Emmett held Rose a little tighter. "They must have a reason. Maybe it's just to see if Bella's still human, to see if we're following the rules. There's time to get her street legal by then, right?"

Edward growled against the silent majority. Not even at my most frightened had I mentioned that alternative.

"Better an indestructible Bella than a dead one, that's all I'm getting at." Emmett held up both hands.

The sound he let loose next was nothing so tame as his warning shot. "That is not better! She will not be bullied into being a vampire. We'll run, hide. She will be turned if and when she wants to, not sooner. Never forced, not while there's hope."

"Easy, E. I'm just throwing stuff out there til Fortune Cookie gets her story together. I forget that it's more than speculation to you. Really." He held up both hands.

Edward nodded acceptance and ran his fingers through his mane. "I can't even…."

"Me either, man. We'll figure it out and then we'll burn the pieces. Losing's no alternative."

Alice the Oracle continued, her voice ominously hollow. "It's not about Bella. They're all coming—Aro, Caius, Marcus, every member of the guard, even the wives."

"The wives never leave the tower. Never." Jasper was confused.

"They are. They will. For us, they are coming here." Edward whispered as he watched Alice's vision unfold.

"Why? There's no reason to RSVP with a plus one to a battle. Those sheltered women are just collateral damage." As the situation dawned on her, Rose got angry. As the Cullens' collective temperature climbed, I feared for Alice's newly-acquired home.

"There are so many of us, more once Alistair and Sophie arrive, and the wolves, that they need to make sure we aren't…." Edward winced and lost his words.

"But we're not! We're not here to overthrow the Volturi! We're just protecting our families and friends from Aro acting on his own." No matter how dire things had seemed, in my mind this was never _really_ going to come down to a fight. Sure, we'd entertained those fears, but they couldn't want casualties any more than we did. The Volturi would come with their pomp and circumstance, we'd make our case and Aro would be restrained by the proper authorities. All these years, he'd been sneaking around. Once the others found out, they'd fix things in a heartbeat. They'd have to. I'd been fairly certain that things would get dicey, but "dicey" like rock-climbing with ropes attached, not "dicey" like _we_ would get diced.

They all turned to me. I could tell when they understood how thoroughly I'd _mis_understood because it coincided with the moment their expression changed to pitying.

Rose spoke first. "It's not that easy, Bella. They have someone whose sole purpose is to bind them together. She's even kept Marcus with them all these centuries after Aro murdered his wife. Most vampires would've died with their mate, especially one as lovable as Didyme. But he believes so strongly in their mission to keep the vampire world in check that he's existed for all theses years, held in by Chelsea's influence and Aro's lies. If executing us served the greater good—greater as they deem it—they'd remove our heads and make sure the masses live to tell."

Jasper picked up the narrative. "He has no idea Aro killed his young wife. Hell, nobody but Jane did until Edward heard him think about it when they came to pay you a visit. They even have a member of the guard who makes them happy just for sticking around, heroin in a cloak. Because of all that, they have centuries of habit and pride to get around too—or we have to get around it, I guess. And we don't know who's in on it. Just because they didn't think about it when Edward was around doesn't mean they don't know about Aro's schemes to control humanity and vampires or that he hasn't convinced them to since then. It's a pretty good bet they didn't but not anything approaching a sure thing.

"We don't know who or what we're fighting.

"The other two doing the right thing would be nice but Aro dragging them to us suggests otherwise. He's got a plan, even if it's just to frame us for some sort of vampire treason."

My mind boggled. "That's a thing, 'vampire treason?'"

Jasper nodded. "They make the laws. They unmake them. Only fear for their reputation makes them pay lip service to the rules. Forced in a corner like this, darlin' girl, all bets might be off."

I sank to the couch. Edward was around me before I could hit the cushions. "I had no idea. This really is a losing fight. I thought this would be dangerous, frightening…not impossible."

"It will be okay. I'll make it all okay." He fingered my hair like a rosary, chanting the words over and again.

Alice checked in as I checked out. "We'll take some of the wind out of their sails immediately." Whatever that meant.

Enveloped by Jasper's warm fuzzies, I floated off to dulcet dreams that night, a symphony of what could and should be, untroubled by reality. Even Jasper's step was lightened the next morning. Alice said he volunteered to stand guard and let Edward hunt with Emmett all night. The whole crew of us wore our burdens with straighter spines, in fact. A strand of hope lifted us from the ashes of our despair.

* * *

Invitations had been scattered from Allesworth to the four winds: to Alaska, South America, the states, across Europe and Africa, even the South Pole. A few handwritten invitations to a belated reception celebrating the marriage of Edward Anthony Masen Cullen to one Isabella Marie Swan even found their way down into the Italian countryside, up a winding mountain road, inside the walls of Volterra and, I imagined with a shiver, between the ancient fingers of its inhabitants.

"You should've made sure to add that no refreshments would be served."

"Thank you, Emmett, for such a helpful suggestion. Will you hold that corner of the house up so I can get the stones level? I could be done already." Alice did nothing by halves so inviting the known vampire world to a party celebrating the end of Edward's extended bachelorhood could never be a modest soiree. We had to make the thing believable. Work to transform Allesworth began the moment her plot hatched.

Once invited guests, Aro lost the chance to gather his brethren and make their visit look as important as he'd hoped. Neither the Cullens nor the witnesses brought by the Volturi nor the wolves could be shaken by the unexpected appearance of an army if the army was on the guest list. Alice's celebration would, indeed deflate some of their bluster.

The invitations served a third purpose. Many of our guests would be houseguests for a week or two beforehand, to "get to know the newest Cullen." It was a guerrilla wedding, complete with games, scavenger hunts, hand-to-hand combat training, strategy sessions with the La Push wolves and, of course, two balls.

"_Of course_ you'd be done by now Fortune Cookie. You need to groom the lawn for those balls. Both of them."

"Shut your mouth, Emmett."

"You did that on purpose, right? For symmetry or giggles…or something. Please tell me the world as we know it might be crashing down around your perfect ears and you just had to have those balls before you go down."

"Rose? Will you…do something with him?"

She practically purred when she materialized from the garden to talk to her husband on behalf of a harried Alice. "Em. We agreed that you wouldn't call them 'balls' because it's not 1688 anymore. It's a party or a gala."

"Fine. I can do better anyway."

Emmett's version of "better" was an outrageously oversized codpiece for the costume ball, an idea Alice saw immediately. I excused myself before the inevitable scrum.

Between chores and sibling skirmishes, the Cullens prepared in earnest for battle, with Jasper in charge of the training. They consorted heavily with the wolves before their arrival. The wolf pack had a primary responsibility to protect their own and would stay in Washington until the last acceptable moment. Jake knew the area and the strategy intimately, a knowledge base they'd acquire the moment they all phased together. Every hour, the danger became more and more real and I became more and more aware of just what a vulnerability I was.

Jake and Gen interfered with Alice's vision. They made their presence scarce.

Watching my newly-cobbled-together family assault this task with the full force of their combined talents was dizzying. I tried to do my own sleuthing (anything to carry my own weight) with just one other person at the time, usually Edward or Alice. Carlisle and Esme weren't staying full time at Allesworth so that Carlisle could keep up the pretense of business as usual at his new job, a gesture of extraordinary optimism in my opinion. It made me hope—that he had a job to go back to as well, that we all had lives awaiting our unquestioned return.

To find the concentration sorting through my thoughts required, I melted into the spaces between their activity—no mean feat since they didn't sleep or rest. I'd listen and remember, then absorb and think later. Alone. Being anywhere near Edward while they assaulted this was just too much. They talked in terms of action—offensives, who to disable first, who Aro would target first. And when they trained, I couldn't focus on anything when they reduced him to being another chess pawn. I just…couldn't. They all seemed to understand and came to find me singly.

Alice and I plotted while I ate. She liked mealtime rituals and hated for me to eat alone, even if I was the only one eating. Between bites of some damn fine onion soup (all of my meals suddenly came to be of "last meal" quality), I reflected on the gravity of our predicament. "Even the box that the necklace came in was a statement. We're the elephants in danger of being hunted out of extinction. His actions are escalating; he's less circumspect in how he's handling us. I feel like the kidnapping victim in a movie that's seen her captor. Someone's not going home."

"That's certainly not you, Bella. Aro has made some major mistakes. If we handle this visit just right, the Volturi might go away or handle Aro for us. We can fight another day, maybe not at all, and hope that he'll stop." She looked away, buttering a roll for me. Her lie fell flat.

"You know better than that."

"I do," still not meeting my eye.

"What do you know?" It couldn't be pretty.

"Today? Let's just start there. _Today_ I know that Rosalie will die trying to keep you alive. And I know that Emmett will take out most of the guard in response—his own funeral pyre. After that, black. I don't even know that their deaths would save anyone, just that they spark…_something_."

"And you've suffered through how many of those?"

"Dozens. Edward sees every one. I tried not letting him but he said that lacked hope and hope is all he has."

I gasp and am sadly unsuccessful at not dwelling on her revelation.

A voice from the doorway interrupts the aching silence. "Mrs. Cullen, would you be interested in a dining partner who might actually steal some food from your plate?"

My smile is instinctive. "I'd be delighted, Mrs. Black."

Gen was the other war bride. I couldn't even joke about our heartbreaking parity yet.

She followed up on her warning shot and stole a piece of my bread before jumping right in on the conversation. "Alice, what sets someone off to go after Bella?"

"It's Jane, always Jane. Since Bella embarrassed her here, she's got a vendetta. She's trying to do her Force choke and loses it. Although it looks like she's trying to hit Edward too but the fight starts before she gets a chance. It's fast and fragmented and bizarre. Something about that is unformed."

And then simultaneously, the two women spoke as Edward rushed in.

"I wonder—"

"Yes—"

"I'll do it—"

I pulled the handbrake on their momentum, as much as I hated inserting myself when I couldn't help. Though I feared that it would probably end in me wishing I had the release of a panic attack I'd inevitably internalize, I reacted. Edward volunteering for battle was my limit so I put a restraining hand on his. "You have to tell me before you put yourself in the line of fire. Just give me some warning."

"I won't have to do anything differently. Gen is going to leave a residual feeling on me, a gift for Aro."

Gen smiled wickedly. She'd been waiting for this opportunity for an incredibly long time. "Let's play with this. I want him just the right shade of frightened. Shaken, not stirred, if you'll forgive the borrowed line. Bella, you especially have to be familiar."

To laugh would have shown that they were able to be distracted, and they were not. A few wryly curled lips and we were off to play at scary stories.

Gen was intense when she had a task at hand. She cut her teeth on guerilla battles with centuries-old vampires and every bit of that came through. "One more time, Bella. You're doing so well."

"Well" wasn't how I'd characterize scared to death, but I dove back in.

No one was as familiar as I with Gen's ability to make a person feel an emotion by touching an object she'd prepared. Making a hermit like me want to track down leads across time and space took a special kind of voodoo. Even knowing that I'd feel the dread she smeared into Edward didn't lessen it at first. We'd been practicing for an hour and I felt like nothing had changed. Maybe I'd volunteered too quickly.

I placed just a fingertip, then two, then a palm on Edward's arm. Instantly, cold fingers gripped my heart. Chill bumps scampered overmy limbs, begotten from the tingle slithering up my spine. Paranoia animated my eyes, turning them to and fro in their sockets. Dread stifled every movement. My heart rate climbed desperately. I couldn't catch my breath. Whatever "it" was, everyone knew was going to pay for it after my demise. My eyes searched all the faces for some sympathy, a way out. Every immortal face looked thirsty.

I had to run.

But where? The ground rocked beneath my feet and the pond looked as if it might swallow me.

Edward tightened his grip on my fingers and looked into my eyes. I remembered. I kept repeating to myself that it was an illusion. A mirage.

My breathing evened.

I remembered the intended recipient and anger steeled me to glare at Aro, wherever he was.

Gen clapped her hands. "Brava, my friend! That's been the best yet!"

"Do you think I can manage it cold the day Aro shows? I'll be so afraid already."

She put a reassuring arm around my shoulder—unnaturally reassuring, I guessed. "We can get warmed up that morning."

Edward was stonily silent through the proceedings. That didn't bode well for us.

I shared my warm fuzzies with him. "You know it's for the best, right?"

"Of course, it's a brilliant idea. Thinking of you in the mix at all pains me. You should be as far away from him as possible but that option's been taken from us. I just can't give you any feedback or groom you for battle."

I kissed his unfrightening cheek. "That's perfectly acceptable."

He used sparring with Alice to take out his aggression.

* * *

A buzz of activity outside my door shook me awake the next morning, not my usual wake-up call with Edward. I mumbled, mostly into my pillow. "Are we out of tea? Do I hear someone grinding coffee beans?"

Cool lips pressed into my hairline at the temple. "I remembered your tea. The noise is Alice."

Right. The parents were coming. _Both _ sets. "Who gets here first?"

"Carlisle and Esme will be here in moments. I'm not so certain about Alistair and Sophie."

"Mmmm. An odd couple, wouldn't you say?" I remembered him only from my wedding, but Sophie's grace made him seem jumpy by comparison.

"I don't believe I get to decide which pairings are odd. It is funny that all the things I did because I couldn't be without you, Alistair did for Sophie once they met. His actions always _seemed_ to have a different tenor than mine but in retrospect he just seems smitten. Women. Four hundred years of rebellion and espionage and it boils down to that."

"For you too, it would seem."

"And Jacob. But I know the two of us wouldn't have it any other way. The idea of running and not protecting my family is no idea at all for him or me."

"I know. I feel so helpless, but at least I'll _be_ there. Gen is dying, knowing she can't be anywhere near the action."

"She's contributing enough and her existence can't be known. Once Aro sees her in one of our memories, he has to be eliminated. The only thing we can do is prevent him from sharing."

All night dreams of Aro at his worst tormented me. Edward had to know, though he gave no clue. "I need to practice again."

"After breakfast, I'll find Gen."

Carlisle and Gen were alone in the library, deep in conversation, when I walked out of the bedroom. Esme stood respectfully at the end of the hallway, beaming. Given what Gen represented, tangible evidence that Carlisle had a past, I was more than a little surprised at her smiles. Esme took in my bewildered expression and crossed to me quickly, not bothering with human speed.

"A child. Can you imagine such a gift coming from such an awful situation? It gives me so much hope for us, Bella. She's a miracle." She took my face in her hands and kissed my forehead. "I wonder if there are others that we just don't know about, scared into the darkest corners they can find."

"Have you met her?"

"Yes. I'm enchanted. I keep reminding myself how annoying my hovering must have been for Jake—and you. She's a full-grown woman, centuries older than I am. I can't get enough of her rosy cheeks and perfect heartbeat. Marvelous. The two of you could be sisters, which is what we'll say if anyone asks."

Esme's bubble of hope hadn't been burst yet either. She was planning for life beyond this interlude.

I squeezed her hand and led her into the library.

"Good morning, Bella. Gen's just been filling me in on a few hundred years' worth of gossip, most of which I think you are already up on?"

"Um, yes."

"Well. I guess I give new meaning to 'misspent youth,' don't I?"

"Stop it." My arms were around his middle, head against his chest, before he could go further. "You were anything but misbehaved."

He kissed the top of my head. "I think some discernment on my part could've prevented a great deal of this mess, Bella. You're going easy on an old man."

I stepped back to look at his face. "You couldn't have prevented Aro from doing what he's done. The rest has worked out beautifully as far as I'm concerned."

Gen chimed in. "Me too, Carlisle."

Esme smiled conspiratorially. "I'm with the sisterhood on this one."

"Yes. I see that. I'll wait to see what judgment Sophie wants to pass. God knows she had no desire for this life."

Esme was having none of it. "Stop it. When I see all that you've set into motion, I have a hard time finding anything to regret. Look at this family. Really think about what it represents. There are no _families_ in our world. And you've been the catalyst for two of them. I'm having a hard time even finding the words for the optimism that gives me. I'd come to see immortals outside our family as frozen into an existence that they weren't able to warm with anything other than fires that burn out of control—power, bloodlust, sex. There's more than that to take from this world, you've made certain we know that, and the lives you feel like you've ruined have been made nothing but miraculous for your having been in them."

In response to something I couldn't hear, all three heads whipped to the doorway.

A beat after they looked, Alistair appeared. "Amen to that, dear girl, amen. It's fine time someone dressed him down for all that self-pity. Morose and indulgent since Gen sent him that note."

Intent on our own conversation, we hadn't noticed Alistair and Sophie ninja the stairs and sneak up on us.

Carlisle recovered first. "My friend, it has been too long."

Alistair smiled his most charming at the ladies before turning to Carlisle. "Indeed it has. And we're back here—you do know where trouble resides."

"In my backyard, obviously." Sophie smiled as she spoke and extended a hand to Mr. Cullen, considering him. "I'm not certain if this is an introduction."

Carlisle took her hand in both of his. "I'd like a second chance but my wife tells me to be happy with what I've done with the first."

"A wise woman." Sophie turned to Esme and added, "Forgive my eavesdropping, but you said all the things I've wanted to say for years, not that if given the chance I would've known where to begin."

Esme took both her hands dearly. "There's so much to tell but no hurry. I'm pleased to meet you after all this time." A measurable silence between vampires, I'd learned, was an eternity. No one interrupted the quiet the two women shared.

"Maybe you could give us a guided tour of the grounds."

The answering smile conveyed more gratitude than acquiescence. Esme, ever-faithful guardian in even the most uncomfortable situation, had given Sophie the chance to learn us at her leisure. "Certainly. Where is the new proprietress? She should walk with us."

Carlisle stayed behind in the library as they walked to the kitchen. When the foursome—Sophie, Alistair, Gen and Esme—descended the stairs, I walked back for a sweater. Something out the window occupied Carlisle, cemented him in place. "You aren't walking with us?"

"I think I need to collect myself. I know that Esme and Sophie are right, but my guilty conscience is slow to recede. Seeing her face, recognizing it but knowing what is missing, it hurt more than I'd even imagined." Turning so that he could face me, he continued, seeing something behind more clearly. "Her left eye used to be larger than the right one. The freckles are gone, covered in porcelain. The emerald light is missing from her eyes. And the smell…it's so…"

"Me. It's me, Carlisle." Sophie materialized again. "I almost came to find you a thousand times so that you could get this out of your system. That battle you wage within yourself, the one where you can't decide if you are worthy enough to be allowed to maintain your humanity by rubbing up against them or if it is too dangerous to the people you connect with to keep those last shreds of decency, that battle is ridiculous. No one wins that fight.

"You deserve the world and it can hope to deserve you. You _are_ a monster. Now I am too. Stop debating whether we should be allowed to exist in such a state. It's immaterial now, my friend. Not to mention lazy and immodest. Don't bury your talent now after investing so successfully in this lot." A smile tempered the indictment, merely a local anesthetic. "Only burying it was condemned by the Master, Carlisle. Only burying it."

She took his hand and I wanted to walk away. I turned to the door. "Don't you run off, missus. That man you've married is no less guilt-ridden. Damning you is killing him. Only the sugar rush of young love keeps his demons at bay."

For her, the undisclosed and uncomfortable truth was as common as dust. Frightening. Liberating, but paralyzing.

I saw him squeeze her hand, ancient pressure and friction to cement those elements in a bond more lasting than the former. "Maybe you could tell us a story to help us fend off the demons circling my family."

"I can try. It's all we can ever do, my friend."

* * *

**Author's Note:** Hello again. I have most of the ending written. Thanks to all of you who have lingered, encouraged, prodded and poked me. I dig it. Let me know how you feel about our friends here. You might just be saving them from the ax in a few chapters. Ahem.

Sophie's last bit of narration is next and then it's all present day.

My darling Clementine kept Edward from sounding like an over-sized sex toy in this episode and you all appreciate that. I promise.

xo

AM


	31. Chapter Thirty

_**Disclaimer:** _The Twilight Saga_ and its characters belong to Stephenie Meyer. I'm pretty sure she didn't write this though._

* * *

_**Allesworth, 1691**_

Allesworth swirled with thoughts, the fine dry powder of newly-fallen whims blown across sedate depths that I might never learn how to mine. Old secrets, news of the day, wants and wishes, hates and vices accosted at their will. The older a thought, the less likely I might notice its faint lingering. I remembered almost nothing from my own human life—snatches of faces and whispered words, words, words...so many words. Entire poems sprang to mind but not my middle name, passages from essays poured forth but not why I cared to craft them; anything that distilled emotion into concentrate remained, the stubborn stains of my past. Stacks of letters upon letters upon letters spoke to me, but not my correspondent. Something about them, maybe just that they might reveal a tidbit I wished hidden, made me keep the sacred scraps to myself. My old life had led directly to this one. Its details were unlikely inconsequential.

The castoffs became nearly indistinguishable from current events sometimes, so much so that I wished to be suspended above the floor, hovering undisturbed from place to place.

What felt like a single source—I could only assume myself—produced a multitude of whispers. There were memories coating every surface like fine silt shifting along a river bottom: fondness for a chair, hungering for a touch, curiosity and excitement about some botanical acquisition.

In the first days of my new life, the mountains of novelty overwhelmed my untrained senses. Much of their original flavor, sadly, got lost in the melee. Gen fascinated me endlessly, as she did even one so mature as Alistair. My new limbs in their diamond shell and the physical prowess they possessed distracted me for entire days at the time. The sounds that I'd never noticed, taken for granted, were a symphony; drifting scents made perfume of the most mundane spring evening; the constant ballet of movement in the air enchanted me, every moment thunderously pregnant with plurality of purpose.

I took to wearing gloves and shoes, as much a protection to my indestructible self as they had been to my frail human body, maybe even more so now. Rife with irony, this new life could be.

Voices whispered to me from every surface, confessing, upbraiding, informing. It took weeks before I recognized that, while the thoughts themselves varied, the source was almost entirely singular. My self-sparing denial could only last so long. "Alistair, she's _me_. The voice that whispers all over this house—it's mine. A bit anemic and incredibly naïve, but it must be me."

Never looking up from playing with some gadget, he mumbled a response. "I'd only be guessing. Give me a specific example and I'll tell you if it would be something you would've thought as a human."

I shouldn't have cared. Those memories were from a different lifetime, from a different woman. "Much of it is…intimate, details that it doesn't seem like I would've shared with you. Or anyone. Forgive my childishness, but if they are _my_ memories, they might not be minutiae I want known."

Fidgeting in a most believable parody of a human girl, he smiled. "Then it is most certainly your thoughts you hear. You were the only lady here recently enough to leave any amount of personal details lying about."

At the mention of personal details, he cringed again, my sentiments echoed on his face. Whether or not it was a second joke—two in such short succession might be too much to expect—he left unconfirmed. Even my bare feet, standing where he stood, could find no trace.

Only a man so dry left nothing juicy behind.

After that I made a thorough search for the life Alistair wanted to pretend I'd never lived. He had a reason, I could almost get a feel for it every time I mentioned my humanity, and it didn't make sense. He was afraid of what I'd find. What did he have to be afraid of? I knew he'd turned me when I'd specifically told him not to. Forgive the pun but what could be more damning than that?

Without need to sleep, my barely-used bedroom was more of a place to keep my clothes, read, or bathe. The bedding had been washed thoroughly while I changed beneath the earth of our garden, leaving nothing but Samuel's concern behind. The old stone tub had been turned into a pond for Gen in her attic apartments. The new zinc one was memory-free, save the detritus of the workman. Samuel thought only about feeding so I avoided it. We gave each other a wide berth at first to avoid the effects his new appetites would have on my own.

Gen had her own rooms, my sanctuary from the past. We took the attic and turned it into the abode of a frog-adoring, dirt-bathing princess. Beneath the sunny gable windows overlooking her kingdom, we made window boxes of flowers that spilled inside, a bed of dainty white alyssum and tulips, gentian, foxglove, mint moved whole from the garden, peppered with whatever weed she dragged up the stairs. Left to sleep, she would often bring her blanket to the flower bed. From that day forward, we referred to them as her garden but the damage was done. Her bed of flowers it would always be and, so, her favorite place to slumber.

Occasionally I'd find her sleeping on the blossoms and began painting her that way. The morning twilight would lengthen and grow, warm to light the pink of her cheeks. The paintings multiplied day after day as my little weed grew in great leaps.

The furniture in my rooms was another story entirely, something I happened upon while changing the pillows and discarding an old vase of flowers. Centered on one side of my bed were two small divots, concealed beneath a rug that needed a good shake. Taking it out, I found the irregularities in the floor.

_Hungry. The slow drip of honey in the hive…I'll just put my nose to the comb. Don't taste yet. Make her remember; keep her safe. Careful with the lamb._

I jumped to the bed and glared at the little marks. Whatever I'd touched was a lie, a mirage. This had always been _my_ room, there were years of youthfully collected ephemera here to attest to that fact. Who would touch me like _that_? Who would I _want_ to touch me like that? There was no violence in the event itself and yet a certain madness colored it, a furious passion. Evidence that a similar act had at some point occurred played on the floor above me—a ghost of what I'd seen—but I wasn't convinced that it had been an ardent union, a love affair. I imagined trickery or worse had led to a child I expected to be monstrous because of her unkind beginnings.

A flash of something of my own made me wonder, a face so achingly beautiful, so intent on…me. Hands with graceful fingers in my hair, on my stays and trailing across my thighs, refusing to be forgotten. The features wouldn't materialize and I tried to force it. Stretched over the bed on my stomach with my head hanging indecorously over the side, I traced my fingers along the marks again.

_Untie the laces singly. Pull...slowly. Delicious. Carlisle's loss._

My fingers burned and tingled. I swallowed back venom in response to the overheated human body in his memory, the thirst for my blood, and leaned down again, revisiting.

_Do this while she is still high. And do it carefully. Aro will not think of love as an excuse for changing her too soon._

I felt it. I felt him slide, slow, slow, fast slow inside me and stop. Suddenly, shockingly I was aware of the comb and its honey…and why Tristan was here. He was here to acquire me, in more way than one, it appeared. _Tristan._

Not remembering my human life made me vulnerable, hence Alistair's care in keeping it from me, about keeping my curiosity at bay. He feigned indifference, a ploy to give me time to adjust to this life before we confronted the old. At this pace, it would confront me first.

Obsession overtook me and made me a whirling dervish, itching to uncover my past.

The house was filled with more of the same—Tristan's conflicted desire and my own inability to want anything but him. He thought of Carlisle more than I did, as if there were some rivalry, as if Carlisle might come protect me from such a rake. How a vampire had so seamlessly insinuated himself into William's life, I couldn't quite grasp. Clearly he had but I didn't yet understand the relationship with Carlisle. What could Carlisle possibly gain from such dangerous acquaintances?

Even the smallest discovery spurred me on. Alistair turned Samuel when an accident occurred on the ship. He thought the boy indispensable and made the choice in a moment. He feared the boy and I might've met in our human lives but the memory appeared to have dried up with his own blood. Alistair gave him the strictest orders not to mention my human life until told otherwise. It didn't occur to him to disobey, so much did he trust his captain.

Alistair understood enough of my gift to know that mentioning something prompted thoughts and emotions, the residue of either something more I could happen across.

Aside from my romantic encounters in far-flung corners frequently overlooked by housekeepers, I conjured nothing new from the house for quite some time. Tristan appeared to favor corners far-flung.

* * *

Gen was not subtle when she wanted something. Dressing for bed—we observed all the human conventions—I had an overwhelming desire to read to her when I reached for my gown. I found her curled up on a couch in the library with Samuel and bowl of hot chocolate.

My eyes met his and I smiled. We'd both been had. "When you put your pajamas?"

"My slippers."

"My robe." Never a disciplinarian, I shook my head in defeat. "You will make her rotten, just giving in to her 'suggestions', you know."

He put his hand over an immovable heart. "I'm trying so hard at it. You give me hope that I may yet be a success at some endeavor. Perhaps by the time she can speak properly she'll be too ruined to even bother with it. She'll just leave messages strewn about on our favorite things. And look at you, coming here to read a children's tale for yourself, no doubt."

I swatted his arm as he walked away.

"We're working upstairs. If the noise is too much for her majesty, let me know."

"She likes knowing you two are around, though I'll never know why. The noise reassures her."

After just half a story her lids began to droop so we reclined. My head touched the wooden trim and I began to wonder how long I could stay, holding her sweet warm self to my monstrously cold body, before I absolutely had to leave. Exposing her to monsters simply endangered her. The other reasonings were conceited justifications. Enduring some loneliness for her safety was a more than fair trade.

I shook my head to clear those thoughts from my head. There was nowhere to go. What had prompted all that morbid self-pity?

_The sonnet. Read it before she sleeps. She knows you're leaving, fool. Stop stringing her along._

The thoughts were not my own. Carlisle's thoughts, finally. I finished the story and tucked my girl in before I crept back to the shelves, only to find no Shakespeare. Where would he have left it? It would turn up. And maybe the pages would still be able to whisper some of Carlisle's thoughts.

It should not have surprised me, the mountain Alistair had hidden. I'd been nurtured like a delicate little seedling, protected, fed and coddled while I rooted myself in this new life. No one does so much without reason.

Distracted as I was with all the bliss pirouetting about my lovely new life, it had never occurred to focus my gifts and understand my situation. The safety nets at every turn made me soft in an unimaginable way. I'd left myself with one absolutely vulnerable blind spot and my past had become my Achilles' heel.

Alistair gave me a wide berth with Genevieve once he felt confident of her safety. I would occasionally look up from the garden and see him in a window, paternally watchful, ever-faithful. He'd pretend to be cleaning leaves from the roof or mildew from the orangerie, but I knew he kept an eye on us. For weeks and months it went on. Once convinced my resolve could be trusted absolutely, he and his other newborn, Samuel from London, would leave for days at the time.

Boys will behave as such, even the vampiric ones, and the house was never in quite the same condition when they shared it with us. They were messy, leaving books and clothes in every room they departed. Determined to maintain our domestic felicity, I waited for their inevitable trips abroad to address the disarray. Their preparation for one journey was particularly involved, requiring metal shavings and gunpowder in eleven rooms. They'd barely set off when I tempted my Gen back into the house with some new bathing toy.

I went first to the room they'd last occupied, to tidy the one where the most fallout would have occurred. Waves of emotionally-charged thoughts washed over me as I hurried in to clean, ranging in power from fine spray to the unstoppable roll of a tidal wave, drowning me in emotional detritus before I could establish my bearings. Every object I touched pressed back. I'd rushed in over my head before I recognized the need to turn back.

Not until I barred the door from the outside did the assault end.

There were myriad reasons to confront the demons in that room. One day, I'd find myself around others. What they'd bring with them was altogether unpredictable. I could use the practice. Alistair and Samuel made no obvious attempt to hide from me. They might simply be waiting for me to grow up enough to handle reality beyond our gates and doing it in a measured way would be a start. Then, too, Alistair and Samuel might be hiding something from me with all their transparency.

Cautiously, I put my fingers on the doorknob. Resolve, a desire to protect, a tinge of fear and affection. What belonged to Alistair and to Samuel, I couldn't quite distinguish. They were so similar on the surface.

The knob turned in my fingers; I walked back through the door.

Their plan unfolded as I touched each surface tentatively. They were trying to counter someone's plans to cause a rebellion in London. The details mattered little to me and I didn't linger. As I moved toward the table, the thoughts became more emotional. Heightened emotions meant less filter and less articulation, more work for me to understand.

Samuel, concerned and angry, both feelings for Alistair, worked quickly, touched little. Alistair lingered about his workbench distracted and conflicted, two things that could put them in danger when they were in London. Somehow even he didn't seem to understand the source of his own disturbance.

He made a point to concentrate on the task with the hollowed out statue so there wasn't much more than that. I walked around the room and heard precious little from Alistair. He guarded his thoughts as carefully as his actions. He felt this rebellion in London was a personal attack, a message, but I couldn't be sure how. They were assembling their Trojan horse to go to London but they were going to Calais, to make it look as if it were arriving from Paris…no, to trade it for the actual statue coming from Paris.

The original statue contained some item and instructions bound for a man's garden in London. A house in town. A man named William. My William, my human family. Someone was trying to draw me out and Alistair had intervened on my—_our_—behalf instead.

Someone wanted William to look like a traitor, to see him facing an executioner. If that couldn't draw me out, they felt I wasn't around to be drawn out.

My hand trailed along the wall, hearing more of the same but nothing about his motivation. Yes, this was my human family. Certainly the scheme was designed to ensure that I'd actually been done in by a werewolf and not turned before Tristan died, but what did Alistair care if a human died, even if it were my family? He seemed so disconnected from their world. He'd even warned me that no good could come of cavorting with them. Why protect _this_ human from an execution? William knew nothing that could hurt us and Alistair did nothing without a reason. The two facts were at cross purposes.

I looked out his window, recognizing his watching perch. There were scratches in the wood, indentations where my fingers sat just so, even thumbprints on the sill's underside. I grazed them and reconsidered.

He deserved some privacy, whatever I could scrape together.

I spent the next hours in frantic activity, anything to give Gen plenty to remember for the men that didn't include my ridiculous intrusion on their work. We swam in the pond and terrorized the fish. She bit into my early citrus and giggled at the perfumed spray. We spit giant seeds as far as we could manage.

With Genivieve safely occupied in the orangerie later that afternoon, I began the task of piecing the haggard remnants of my humanity into something tangible. If burying was necessary to dying, I'd done exactly neither. My undead past was chasing me down; it was time to confront those demons, to make them sing and dance for me.

And bury them deeply.

I slipped my shoes off and began walking, first the halls and then the orangerie.

The interior revealed only more of the same. My hands became Tristan's, his desires mine, though not the first time they had mingled. Torn about taking me to Volterra, even before he knew about the child, he fretted almost constantly. If he'd contrived a means to keep us safe from Aro, he would have left with me long before he died. When hearing more became too difficult, I escaped outside.

Steam rose from the brass pipes, an off-key chorus of too-sharp woodwinds and too-dull percussion, as I stoked the fire in the orangerie. Mist circled in the air, obscuring the upper plates of glass.

The orangerie hid much amidst the plants and tables. Tristan, I learned, followed me into the glass dome to watch and protect me, out of fear for both our lives. I was on display under glass and something he smelled on his return from Volterra made him uneasy about such vulnerability. In one corner, spies from Volterra, looking for a werewolf or a girl or a newborn, had poked through the growth half-heartedly. Tristan again, hoping for something that was too long ago for me to catch, while sitting on the fountain gripping its ledge.

Alistair built this sanctuary by hand, his concern etched in every joint, dovetailed between the metal and glass. Unlike when I worked in the house, he could see me flitting about under the paned dome, make sure I was safe from the cold outside or anything unseen inside. His presence must have been the unseen thing eating at Tristan constantly.

I began to move tables and chairs, a potting bench, a fountain. All the smaller, less-established plants were to the outside, things I might have been working with at the time Tristan was here with me.

In the middle, taking advantage of the greatest clearance in the orangerie, stood a large palm tree with coconuts on it that thrived in the steam. Alistair brought it back from Paris, a cast-off found in an abandoned greenhouse. He said it was a present for Gen and moved a small grouping of lemons to situate it. It responded to the change of venue immediately, lush greenery already covering its original nakedness and a pair of passionflower vines snaking up the trunk, caressing my skin each time I passed. Looking at it was such a pleasure and Alistair had taken great pains to situate it just so, to cover some large gash in the stones. Just having it there lent a certain Edenic idyll to the space.

As I searched, I kept looking up at it, watching the wild things as they came and went from it, insects, birds, a monkey Alistair rescued from an empty, pirated ship.

I moved trees and vines, cultivars that had grown tangled and lush since Carlisle or Tristan had been here. Every planting and prop had been searched, without success. The tree in the center of the garden caught my eye again as a butterfly lit on its dependent vine. Alistair had asked me not to move it weeks ago, reminding me how fragile a state it had been in when we acquired it.

Was it worth the trouble? What if I found nothing?

Unable to help myself, I touched the bark and apologized for any pain I might cause. The enormous planter protested mightily as I pushed it away and my toe slid across a large crack in the stone. It brought me to my knees.

Carlisle, brokenhearted and needing to go pulled at my heartstrings. Desire, bloodlust and fleshly desire playing off one another to perfection—too much to stay unharmed, too much to flee unhindered. Regret, crushing regret. I felt as if I was Carlisle, on my knees, begging for forgiveness, the too-warm fingers of soft flesh between my own teeth covered in animal hide. I could taste leather, citrus on my own mortal skin, smell my own blood. He wanted to say goodbye to me there and I was unwilling, unable yet to let go.

I offered myself to him, said that he could have as much or as little as he wanted. He decided to take…but didn't.

Clearly I was in love. I had been in love with him. How did that memory hide here?

Sufficiently enlightened, I put a foot forward to stand and stopped. There was more. I'd been here more than once, fallen later in this trip hazard Carlisle left behind. My knees hurt, they were skinned, my hand bleeding, as I ran to find the source of the fighting I could hear. Tristan needed to stay safe, to protect me. I didn't care if he was a monster and not an angel—no. NO!

Surely not. I convinced _two_ vampires that I knew their secret and I did not. They allowed me into their world, their confidence. And _me_! I was just another fool, drawn in like prey, biting into the fruit because I wanted to be like them. Who would partake of that fruit if they knew the consequences?

Mortified, I ran. Alistair had watched me for months, years, throw myself at two vampires, practically begging for this life of damnation. No wonder he changed me. He was right to avoid my past and steer me around it. I could not have made a bigger fool of myself, made more danger for myself and my loved ones.

I ran harder. Not far enough for satisfaction, not far enough that even the landscape could not jostle some memory loose, because of my daughter and because I didn't know if I could be trusted around a human I didn't care for mightily. Just enough distance remained between me and the stained and scarred stone in the orangerie that I could think. There must have been blood and venom in the stone, enough that Alistair knew to cover it. Nothing in the house left me much information about Carlisle. By appearances, he was a casual acquaintance, someone dear to Uncle William. I knew more must have been the case but I had no idea. His knees had slammed into the stones, probably leaving the venom behind, a mark practically indelible. What I was thinking, I was left mostly to imagine, but it wasn't difficult to piece together.

I climbed down from the tree and began to notice marks on the bark throughout the woods. Possibly Carlisle. I ran my fingers over the gouges only to find most of them too old to harbor any thoughts.

One had more evidence of abuse than the others. I lingered in desperation, running my hands and feet over every inch. Again I found myself slipping my fingers into Alistair's, watching me through the windows, reading to Carlisle, cooking for myself, making love to Tristan, and all the while hating myself just enough to not intervene. I imagined the satisfying snap of Tristan's neck under my own hands as he manipulated the woman I was so intrigued by, as he used parlor tricks to conjure her clothes from her body. As surely as if it had actually occurred, I saw Alistair's hands wash my hair and my hands drift across his stomach, warmed by the combination of the bath and my own nearness.

I flung myself out of Alistair's perch and began to understand that, if I'd ever been at the apex of a love triangle, it was not the legs of Tristan and Carlisle cradling my capricious hypotenuse. It was Tristan and Alistair. It had always been Alistair, even when he thought that he was simply intrigued by a beautiful human.

How had I not imagined it before? At every misstep, he'd caught my fall, even when the Carlisle tripped me up. He'd waited underneath the pond for weeks, listening.

He crossed the Channel, getting the reputation of a man possessed.

He sent Samuel to check on me, knowing the boy had no desire to drink me dry, and turned him when Tristan's intention to deliver me to Aro became clear, counting on newborn amnesia to save him from becoming a casualty in Aro's cold war.

He convinced Carlisle to want to step aside.

It had always been him.

It would always be.

* * *

_Author's Note:_ I divided Sophie's narrative in half. Second half to come.


	32. Chapter ThirtyOne

**Disclaimer: The Twilight Saga and its characters belong to Stephenie Meyer.**

* * *

Reeling, I stumbled back to the house, to the little couch in the library. A habit, one my limbs and not my memory dredged up, I opened the drawer and pulled out a favorite book of poetry. The smell I recognized from my trip here with Gen just a few nights before. Could it be so simple?

I lifted the volume carefully, tiny pieces of paper falling out from between some of the pages and landing like snowfall at my feet.

A letter invited Carlisle Cullen to practice with an illustrious group of physicians in Edinburgh. Another short note was more personal, from my uncle, simply enquiring about the trip to Allesworth. Carlisle's reactions were part of the paper now—his heartache at abandoning what he'd come to view as his family, his hope. He wanted to check on William before he left for Scotland. He wanted to see what life would be like in Volterra, a whim that made me shudder. Carlisle would never survive among those wolves.

Chubby fingers tugged me back to the present. When Alistair returned, I had errands to run. And run and run.

When they stepped through the door, Alistair and Samuel knew immediately that something had changed. Alistair's uncanny paranoia, his fear that was usually dead-on, served him well.

"Something is not right, dear girl. What has changed in our absence? Something's afoot."

No stranger to intrigue, having been weaned on it, Samuel smiled broadly, satisfied to be home. "You are the smoothest devil, Alistair. Maybe just tell our two favorite girls hello?" He embraced us and planted a kiss solidly on the tops of our heads.

Gen leaped at Alistair, making sure he knew there was now a request on his scarf. He chuckled as he grabbed an end with each hand and rubbed it to and fro across the back of his neck. "Someone thinks that a person walking through the door of this dwelling must be in possession of a gift for her. Why would that necessarily be so?"

Samuel produced a book for Gen and a parcel of fabric for me. "You set the precedent, sir. I was wondering myself what you smuggled back."

He sighed dramatically and produced an impressive array of brightly-wrapped gifts from his bag, among them a lantern that made a pattern of the stars in the night sky against the ceiling of a dark room. Promising a trip to the garden to play with it before bed was the only way I could convince her to bathe and wash her unruly hair.

I walked out to the garden with Gen and her clever lantern. We let its constellations shine on the roof of the garden temple while Alistair and Samuel unpacked in peace.

When I could see him watching from his perch, I knew it was time to put the little fairy to bed. As I suspected, she required her story from Alistair's lips because he'd been gone.

I ascended to his perch and put my hand on the sill just like I'd seen him do. Even knowing that my time was short, my fingers refused to light on the wood. Even knowing that this was the only way, I tried to think of a way to allow him some privacy. Even knowing what I might find—the answers I wanted—I balked.

The impression that I'd slipped my hands into his was so strong, the illusion so real, that my now-timid fingers retreated. My human self would've blushed. Whatever I wanted to know about him was at my fingertips. Even his smell was nearly overpowering. I could not imagine feeling such intimacy with another were they physically present.

I took his hand again. He liked to watch from here, a safe distance, because there was so much risk in getting closer. He loved us, only a bit of a surprise, but he loved me separately. Differently. He was afraid I knew and didn't feel the same.

Guilt. Jealousy. Patience. More guilt.

He imagined my hands in his, his hands on me in a few different ways.

I pulled away, chastened and unsure. I'd hidden what I knew about my own human life for fear it could embarrass me and now I'd taken his secrets by force. And what a secret it was.

As I retreated, my hand touched the table, his parting words. He was afraid I knew already. Afraid that I knew and didn't care.

He was outside Gen's room when I turned the corner. Ten paces away, maybe fewer.

"If you'd rather talk from a distance, I would understand."

His answering laugh was a wrongly accused man sprung, no longer restrained by lock and key. "I was thinking the same thing of you, that you might not want the extraneous to bother you. But then I realized what was different when we arrived home. You've stopped wearing the gloves and shoes all the time."

Even without his usual calculation, the trajectory of his words was still deadly accurate.

_Yes!_ "It has been enlightening but, I must say…mortifying. I should prefer an eternal hairshirt."

"_You?_ I enquire and interfere and make it my business to know minutiae about strangers and miss that I have myself…," his voice faltered, and when it picked back up had softened to a whisper, "fallen in love? My expertise in embarrassment surpasses yours easily."

All this effort and yet he spoke the words so swiftly, as if he were telling me that he's read poetry and not a children's tale to Gen at bedtime. "Have you really, Alistair? I want so much to react to that statement as if it is reliable but given my poor history with men, especially immortals, it seems inadvisable to bite immediately."

At my side in an instant, he removed all doubt. His hand sought mine, almost clumsy in its desperate fumbling to liberate his feelings from under lock and key. "Please, please bite posthaste, Sophie. You can start out with a nibble, if you'd prefer to begin slowly."

A warmth that I had no experience with blushed from my chest out, causing a bubble of laughter to escape my smiling lips. I leaned forward as if I were going to whisper a reply and, instead, nibbled it into his earlobe.

"You have no idea what you are getting yourself into, Miss Copeland."

"Every time that's been the case, you have managed to make it work for me. I trust I'm in most capable hands."

They were indeed capable. Through the night, when I could spare his lips, he told me what he and Samuel were up to and exactly what I was "getting myself into." That I would decline was never an option.

Watching Gen eat breakfast the next morning, I told Alistair what I'd meant to say the night before. "I must go."

"From me?" His shoulders drooped almost imperceptibly.

"In some sense, yes. But only to attend to a few chores on my own. Such vigilance as yours was necessary for new growth but I sink or swim now. How many ways do you know me better than I know myself? Just walking these grounds was an education. Some loose ends must be tied down, burned off…they cannot be left for any passerby to pull for diversion. I am vulnerable and such weakness distracts.

"We are at war, if I understand you correctly. What soldier directs his thoughts anywhere but the battle if he loves what he defends absolutely?

"Every regret I have haunts me and threatens us. Let me bury my old life, my dead self."

We plotted and schemed for weeks before Alistair consented to my departure. "William has finally decided that you are gone. A funeral is planned at St. Genevieve. Be careful and it will be a good place to start."

"Someone taught me well. I will manage."

"I am a man possessed. Call my possession to mind, traipsing about with it as you are, and don't forget that it is my most valuable."

"You smear it about, an oily residue tracked across Allesworth and possibly all of England. How could I forget, were I even hoping to do so? I'll probably be washing it from my fingertips every time I visit some corner you've haunted."

His belly laugh warmed me later as I ran to London and dulled the sharp pain of having to remove myself from Genevieve.

* * *

I found William weeping over a pile of papers, letters detailing my last days and demise. Alistair was absolutely correct in warning me to take care in London. Vampires, the same delegacy dispatched to Allesworth, had been on site recently. They found William as bereft as I and left secure in the belief I wasn't trying to live as Carlisle had.

Carlisle had been here as well, darkly illegitimate, hiding amongst the mourners as if concerned for William. I hoped he'd group me in with the spies, feel that we were simply gawking at the macabre spectacle of an immortal weeping over his pet, and not try to investigate me.

I did have the restraint to not attend my own funeral, tempting though it was. I simply waited in the sewers for the mourners to leave before I ascended to eavesdrop. There were memories of all kinds: childhood memories from my cousins, salons remembered by Londoners, trips to France recalled by a group from Paris. A disastrous trip to some cave was forefront in one woman's mind, one that ended for me in an unchaperoned carriage ride with Carlisle. We were…friends, Carlisle and I. She had hoped more would come of our friendship but that was because she didn't know about Carlisle.

William felt he had nothing left without his niece and regretted allowing my darkest hour to be so extended. My recklessness in Carlisle's absence hurt him, of course it did, and he was uncertain what to do in my absence. He held out unreasonable hope that I'd be found on some island in the Mediterranean, having survived my shipwreck but lost my memories.

I walked back to the sewers more determined to keep him safe, something better done from a distance.

Alistair's warning about spies proved correct. They were everywhere. Many of them had even known me as a human. I ran to the water and swam until they flowed warm and the air blew hot. I would find out exactly what Aro wanted from me. The rumor I chased said he never left his mountain fortress, which made him a cold fish in an ostentatious barrel.

So I ascended from the sea, some dread Siren seeking revenge, the stuff of mythology, and wondered if humans weren't a bit smug in boxing up and packing away the religion of the ancient world, conveniently labeling it Myth. Immortals of incredible strength and talent, spreading their petty jealousies, not to mention their indiscretions, across the earth read more like an account of the last year than fairy tale.

_Leda and the Swan_, _Sophia and the Wolf_, weren't they the same story? Was it possible that someone had simply written what they thought to be true and posterity called it imagined? How many times had it played out, leaving how many others like Gen? Tristan thought none but I was newly uncertain. Maybe Science wouldn't save us from the Dark Ages after all. Maybe its job was only to make humans feel safe.

I shuddered, still wet behind the ears, as Volterra came into view.

If there was one thing vampires (Alistair and the ones I'd eavesdropped on) had taught me, it was circumspection. They never went for exactly what they wanted; it told their enemy what to defend. Instead of marching straight up to Volterra, I got to know the lay of the land, literally and via passersby.

There were miles of tunnels beneath the castle, a means of inconspicuous daytime travel for the Volturi and their minions. The reasons to never stray far were obvious, given all the enemies Caius, Marcus and Aro had made for themselves but the reasons to leave, in my own mind, outweighed them by far. Once I saw more of the world, I could only imagine those reasons multiplying.

A vision of returning with Gen at my side tore at my heart. How much joy she could get out of a trip to the Mediterranean!

Just the journey here—my swim through the sea, the run inland, my quick snoop—was a breath of fresh air after being confined to Allesworth for months. Years, decades even, in such a place as Volterra might make me a bit mad.

The tunnels seemed the key to sneaking around, learning them indispensable.

A few of the rooms had been the site of an ongoing tryst, an affair Aro and Jane kept from even his wife and her twin. Such an arrangement did not exist in the world of immortals. Mates bonded permanently. The origin of their affair eluded me. She would think of the location and he could do nothing but follow. He'd never considered disobeying.

The specifics were disturbing—his ennui cured by her inscrutable ability to cause him pain even from a distance, her glee at the power he gave her even after knowing her inside and out—but the symbiosis had forged a bond so strong that no secrets remained between the two, a lichen eating away at the mountain around them.

He had ambitions beyond the Volturi and was beginning to have some success at getting spies in kingdoms all over Europe. Jane agreed with Aro's plan to topple kingdoms and keep the humans so disturbed that they didn't notice greater numbers missing. They dreamed of keeping them like cattle, using whatever ancient dividing lines they could exploit to let them imprison and annihilate one another.

And why should the mightiest creature on the planet banish himself to the night and hide from its prey like some weak insect? He would turn that upside down one day. Humans would be herded as livestock, slaughtered that way as well.

After one of Aro's meetings with Jane, not long after the spies returned from the London funeral, Aro mourned the loss of Sophie and Tristan. Tristan had never failed to bring back a charge, even if he did insist on bedding them every time. That loss would be felt for some time.

And Sophie. Beautiful Sophia. She would've done something special. She missed no detail and supposed on target so regularly that Aro knew more than normal intelligence was involved. Now he'd never know.

Briefly, he considered turning William and I fought the urge to hunt him down myself. I'd show him "beautiful Sophia" in all her glory if he ever went near my uncle.

Satisfied that he had no inkling of my existence or, more importantly, Gen's, I retreated to Allesworth. To Alistair. There was nothing else I could do on my own. Our work was certainly cut out for us.

* * *

_**Author's Note:**_ We're circling the drain, folks. Not many chapters left. I love you guys.


	33. Chapter ThirtyTwo

_Disclaimer: Twilight and its characters belong to Stephenie Meyer. _

* * *

By virtue of their proximity, the nomads from the British Isles and the western shores of the continent arrived first. Their nearly-familial banter curled around the smell of muffins to draw me downstairs for breakfast.

"There she is: our Edward's blushing bride." On cue, I did just that for Siobhan. "Good morning, Mrs. Cullen. You are prettier than Carlisle said, far too sweet-faced to be wrapped up with this rabble."

Until beholding for myself the pageant of red eyes parading through the gates of Allesworth over the next few days, I didn't quite grasp the contrast between my vampires and the others. The new faces frightened as much as heartened me with their dangerous seduction. We needed their help—that I couldn't deny—but having them with us brought into sharp relief just how violent things could become, how quickly it could happen and how terribly unprepared I was. Moment to moment the roll call expanded. Their leonine grace in the face of such an event buoyed me; lazing about between heated debates over strategy and the vampire politic couldn't be a symptom of nerves. Sometimes the charade of a wedding fell away, so convincing were the congratulations and celebration.

Accustomed to immortals who tried to blend, these creatures with their sparkling ruby eyes and untempered gestures were gaudy to me. They seldom bothered to speak or move at human speed to accommodate little old me. Fidgeting and blinking were out of the question. Introductions whizzed by, a blur of names and pale faces, cold fingers occasionally on my own.

I sipped my tea and let them zip around me like bees, their inhuman conversation a buzz in the hive.

Alice dressed me like a queen holding court—according to her, I was. Over the course of that first morning, all the vampires of Europe, many of them witnesses to the rise and fall of despots, kingdoms, dynasties, must have arrived and offered their felicitations. There were so many. The more I heard them, the more the names began to stick. Those from the British Isles spent the most time around humans and seemed most comfortable with the idea of me in their world. Maggie and Siobhan served me well as liaisons, filling in the frequent gaps.

By lunch, I was dying for a pre-party nap. I shuddered at the thought of what costumes Alice might have arranged. Edward assured me of their appropriateness and offered to spoil Alice's surprise if it would ease my mind.

Four hours later, I descended to the party in a vintage satin, beaded Deco gown on the tuxedoed arm of a dapper distributor of high-quality hooch.

A piano jangled in time to the unrestrained joy of brass. If I didn't already know the date, I might believe that American Prohibition had bled across the Atlantic. The crystal glinted, caught the candlelight and made it even better, sent it back in Technicolor through the prisms. Metered by the music, the acrobatics of my quick houseguests were shown to even greater advantage, accented with quicksilver beads and tail feathers a-shaking. I needed time to slip and bend for me just a bit. This was doing the trick.

"There's more sloe gin here than there are gin drinkers. You'll have to quicken the pace, Mrs. Cullen."

"Mr. Cullen, are you trying to get me intoxicated?" I accepted the fizzing tumbler with a sloe gin smile.

"You see right through me. Maybe you would accompany me to the dance floor? You know I cut my teeth on this music." He flashed a deadly smile that only made me chuckle.

"Alice is some kind of event planner. This is the engagement party you might've had without the Spanish flu."

He looked around thoughtfully. "There's no guarantee. All I do know is that boy never would've met this girl. And while I can't pretend that I'm not bringing some baggage from the times, I'm certain that I'd drag it through two or three more centuries to find you. When I was born is just trivia. You make this story juicy. Now let me show you a few moves I've picked up in the last few decades."

I didn't want to break this spell but he seemed more than capable of casting another. I looked from the dance floor to my date, nervous. The current occupants were so picturesque I hated to ruin the scene with my knees and elbows. "Maybe we could just watch for a minute or two longer?"

His fingers jitterbugged along the small of my back, where my dress took a dangerous slide. "Just until you finish that glass of courage. I can practically feel you locking up and I just cannot allow such a thing. Don't make me do something drastic."

"You mean Jasper can feel me locking up." From across the floor, Mr. Whitlock gestured for me to drink up. I tipped my glass back and next thing I knew, its warmth washed me right out on to the parquets.

My eyelids parted, opening the curtain on the final act. I smelled tea, waffles, bacon—a fitting good-bye meal.

"Good morning, love."

I objected to this sentiment on so many levels and sat up on my elbows to tell him so. "Edward, I—"

He put a finger to my parted lips. "Please. Just for a moment more, let me be the man that you can admire. Even if this day ends with you in my arms, warm and safe, you might never be able to see me the same way again. The things I'm prepared to do to keep you…just let me have this. This isn't a funeral. It's so I'll remember why I'm out there and you'll maybe not think of me as a monster forever more."

He always knew just what to say to get his way. "I do have to eat. Can I have a human moment?"

Fumbling towards the bathroom, I hip-checked the doorjamb and heard him chuckle. Brushing my teeth and the rest of it was, mercifully, uneventful. I gazed wistfully at our toothbrushes crossed again on the countertop. I'd used the wrong one—even I didn't care about separating them.

From under the covers, I asked for tea first. "You know I don't wake up hungry."

"Yes. We usually have to tempt you to eat."

I breathed in the steam gathered at the mouth of my teacup. Closing my eyes, I remembered the innumerable times I'd done this very thing and wished for the real Edward to be there when I opened them. "I used to inhale the fragrance of my tea in the mornings and imagine it was really you."

"I confess. Sometimes it was. I'd wait as long as I could before I left. At first, I'd use a jacket or a blanket you'd tossed off the bed and breathe through it to diffuse the smell. I knew it left my scent behind but it didn't matter. I secretly hoped it would and then prayed that it wouldn't. Crazy."

"No. Very human. You've kept more of those pieces of you than you know." To elucidate, I trailed a finger down his throat and he leaned in to kiss my lips. Instead, I offered the side of my neck as I took his earlobe in my teeth. He rained cool kisses on the heated skin there.

"That was a very un-monstrous response to an exposed blood supply, Mr. Cullen. You're no beast. You and the inner monster are coming to terms, remember?"

"Just because something that isn't your blood calls me—"

"It would never be the case with another vampire. Now, chip chop with those waffles." I had a sudden urge to lick syrup from every surface of my husband and I didn't care how many sets of superspy vampire ears listened in. Whatever this was—my lullaby in its physical manifestation, a specter of the life we could've enjoyed on and on, a kiss goodnight—I needed it. I needed the sticky sweet and the prickling tears to make it all real.

"I need some salt with my sugar. Can we start with the bacon?"

* * *

Washing that much syrup from my hair, chin, fingers—and husband—took a while, not that I would've considered rushing. I dried my hair methodically, dressed carefully and donned the necklace that had sparked this side trip. The centerpiece was an emerald but Alice found a silk dress the same ethereal blue as the Ceylon sapphires that sat on my collarbone. It made the glowing emerald dull by comparison. I added stockings and heels to my ankle-length gown before descending the stairs to where our force had assembled.

Carlisle had a hand on Esme's shoulder. Alice sparred cheekily with Jasper, an effort to keep him from only absorbing our stress. Emmett folded himself around Rose so that her upturned face whispered into his ear. Sophie's fingers danced worshipfully around Alistair's, a constant caress. Jake loomed in the garden. He seemed impossibly larger, made equal to the task of leading his lupine army into a foolhardy battle, the only course that would lead him back to his Gen.

The nomads took stock one last time. They could leave at any moment, we knew that, but they had almost as much at stake as our family and making a stand later, unaided, wasn't in their collective best interest. Alice had seen this already. They would stay. Still, watching as they made the decision themselves pained me.

Through the windows, I saw more groupings outside. Each coven discussed and argued, tossed around the idea of walking away but their reasons to stay were even stronger. What if just one more talented immortal joined their ranks? Would they rejoice in their good fortune or lament their spot at the top of the hit list?

The Romanians, creepy in their voyeuristic glee over the whole scene, disgusted me. They'd been so solicitously polite to me for helping bring all this to a head that I tried to rein in my gagginess, not easy but I managed.

Alice intoned. "It's time."

Genevieve Black held her husband one last time. Pushing the buttons of his shirt through the perfectly stitched eyes, she started to tremble. I turned my tear-edged gaze away. She hadn't faltered once in these weeks. I couldn't watch her say good-bye.

Jake broke the embrace to look her in the eye. "Promise me that you'll hide if Aro gets away. Promise. No games. I'll find you and we'll regroup then. Promise."

"Of course."

"Bella, you heard her, right? We're going to ground. No one will try to be a hero."

"Yes, I heard. We all did. No heroics."

Edward walked to Gen, carefully not touching her again. "We'll take care of him. You've done so much. Just go as fast and as far as you can. Don't decide until you have the city noise to drown it out."

She took my hand and squeezed. "You're a brave lamb, walking into the lions. I can't thank you enough."

She blew a kiss to each of us and she left, wrapped in Jake's shirt.

Edward smiled at our shirtless friend. "That's your signature look, I think. Come here and rub some of that dog musk on me. I don't want anyone to notice that I reek of your wife."

I almost choked. Jake was practically pale. "Was…was that a joke, Eddie?"

My husband looked apologetic. "It was too soon. Sorry."

"No, it was good. I dig it. And if you talk about my wife like that again, I'll leave red marks that'll make your white ass look like a candy cane."

"That's fair, dog. Give me a hug. And be thorough."

Thorough he was. Jake was TSA-officer-thorough going over Edward before we walked out to the gardens.

Tables resplendent in dress blues (and plums) manned their posts in the garden, chandeliers hung like crown jewels from the trees and hothouse flowers bloomed surreally everywhere. The gardens were staged within an inch of their ancient lives. The "guests" assembled in clumps that seemed haphazard. Each one had a leader, a weapon and a specific task. Edward and I were exposed in comparison. They were dressed beautifully and looked to be celebrating my recent marriage. We looked like newlyweds dancing to our own love song amidst the well-wishers. Alice had orchestrated the scene perfectly, right down to the setting sun glowing eerily, an otherworldly moon behind the clouds. Instead of raindrops, the haze spat a frigid mist that swirled in the distance.

I shivered and pulled my coat tighter against another cold, one rapidly approaching from the south. We playacted that its arrival was welcome.

They traveled in military formation, assembled by rank, those ranks advertised by the colors they wore. Gray cloaks of the guard to the outside and bringing up the rear sheltering the black capes of the Volturi and their wives. The contrast to our motley, multihued band of guerillas was so pronounced as to be comical. Darkly funny, but gallows humor was all I had of late. They emerged from the forest like an evil fog.

A hush and a breeze marked their arrival. The others, of course, heard them long before I did and ceased speaking midsentence, dispensed with their dancing in graceful unison. I was certain that their scents arriving before they did served some purpose but I was too green to know all the tricks.

And then I heard it too, the drumming. I didn't the one-two cadence that metered a standard march. Though orderly and immaculately-timed, I couldn't help but be overwhelmed by how aggressive and intricate the rhythm was.

We all gaped, our surprise genuine. No matter how much we'd prepared, this visit was engineered for intimidation and shock value. Their centuries of rehearsals paid off in spades. Under the eyes of this procession, the strongest vows of fidelity from our friends seemed like whispered, illicit promises offered in the heat of passion but fleeing in the daylight. I turned, realistically expecting some of our party to retreat into the fog. Somehow our party held fast to the man, if only to see the spectacle.

Cold pricked at my spine and I had to forcibly banish the wives tale from my thoughts. No one had walked over my grave.

There was even a rhythm to the unfolding of the guard, the wives, the Volturi. It was only after I searched their crowd unsuccessfully for drummers that I realized they'd had none. Their choreographed steps were the drumming I'd heard. Long after they'd come to a halt, the death march persisted, doggedly refusing to acknowledge having been cut off from its source.

In a pale echo of Volterra's pride, the second grouping of vampires followed. The death march was theirs too if this went badly. I wondered if they even suspected. Surely they must fear something. It seemed that no immortal went before the Volturi without being threatened.

They were as beautiful as my wedding guests, if slightly muted in their plumage—maroon and not crimson, lavender for grape, mauve for magenta. The spaces between them tightened and I knew they must be coming to a stop.

Carlisle and Esme rushed forward to welcome our esteemed guests, his unfailing optimism all that I could read. Her grace held without a crack. He greeted his old acquaintances warmly. A cold fog insulated the ground, making their footfalls invisible among the grasping fingers.

Keeping our distance as long as we could, Edward and I watched the charade of pleasantries from our position of honor in the garden temple. Most of the exchange was out of my earshot so Edward repeated as much as he could.

"They're just exchanging greetings, discussing the guest list, complimenting the beautiful job Alice has done with our reception on such short notice." That we were supposed to look as if we were celebrating had momentarily slipped my mind. I touched up my smile and Edward's thumb pressed into the base of my spine, wordlessly encouraging me.

As the wives were introduced to Esme, he turned to me and smiled, trailing a finger along my cheekbone. "The wives think you're beautiful, that you should be made a vampire just to keep such a face preserved for posterity. They regret missing events like by not leaving home and are more grateful than they can express for the invitation. I agree. I think we should host an event like this every winter, to celebrate this anniversary."

Even I saw Aro's head swing up in alarm at the jab while the others grinned at Edward's imagined romanticism, no one even bothering to pretend that they weren't eavesdropping. With that seemingly innocent comment, he'd made them all remember why they'd journeyed to a tiny island hundreds of miles from their secure home. I wondered how much loose fruit he gathered. Not knowing what he found out was killing me. Who was here for the romance and who came for the fight?

It must have dawned on the creepy one that continued chit-chat was really not in his favor. "Young Edward. Bell-ah. I cannot tell you how intrigued I am by your matrimonial bliss. Your union is truly one-of-a-kind."

We stepped forward together, taking our sweet, human time. Looking down at the fingers of frosty haze caressing the ground only reminded me of the white digits itching to trip me up so I kept my eyes on Jane. I spoke on our behalf as planned. "Aro, it's a humbling surprise to see you again. And so soon. This is my husband, Edward, as you've no doubt figured out."

He didn't break stride. "Aro."

For Aro's part, the show continued as we came to a halt in front of him. "Edward, Carlisle has shown me so much of you that I feel we are already friends. Such a talent you are! And your wife as well, even without the crystallization of her abilities that immortality will bestow."

The hum of angered bees came from the hive of vampires we didn't know. The wives' doting comments probably didn't sit well with them and once Aro turned his attention to us, their demeanor changed. They seemed to disapprove of consorting so intimately with the livestock. I wasn't their heifer. They could buzz all they wished.

I nodded meekly behind lowered lashes, a move which seemed to mollify the crowd.

"Carlisle remembers his time with you all fondly and frequently. I feel similarly, as if your work is part of our collective heritage. And I appreciate the note of congratulations, such a flattering surprise."

I put a hand on the emerald in the hollow of my throat. "The thank you note I sent for my wedding present seemed wildly inadequate; I'm enchanted by your gift, needless to say."

"As am I." The glint in Edward's eye caused me to blush. I wanted to hide my face, to lean into his shoulder, and then remembered the slithering fear smeared across everything but the hand in my own. I hoped the rush of blood made them all uncomfortable. So far my nude modeling was still between Edward, Alice and I. The men hadn't so much as shaken hands.

He waved my concerns away. "Merely a trinket collecting dust, one that you have elevated to art by simply wearing it. Anne Boleyn herself did not wear it nearly so well...and cannot bear to look at it now knowing Henry gifted it to her. You're the first human girl we deemed worthy of such a storied past as that."

Was that a threat? Off with _my_ head? I couldn't help but wonder if Anne was among the gallery, sizing me up, remembering her own public scrutiny.

I palmed the center stone, "I had no idea. Again, thank you."

With me at such a disadvantage, the pause swelled, a gorged tick fat with possibility by the time Aro spoke. His theatric sense of timing did not fail him. He struck out. "You received another wedding gift, something even grander, I hear."

My having been prepared for his accusation didn't make it less effective on his audience. I attempted to lighten its gravitas. "It does seem that vampires have a flair for the dramatic, something else for me to learn." An audible ripple of amusement washed over those in attendance. I was winning them over. "An island. I've only barely visited, but it's somewhere we can be safe in the open. It's beautiful…though I probably don't have to tell you how lovely."

"With a stone fortress, not unlike Volterra, if I understand correctly."

I forced a fond smile, though Edward's face confirmed Aro's intent. "A ruin of one, yes. You'll have to swing south as you go home. Please feel welcome there. I can't put it to use until the end of the semester. We'd like to put a home there eventually; maybe you'll have suggestions." I imagined this assembly there, like dry lizards basking on hot rocks, hissing and posturing in the heat.

With a chuckle, Edward interjected. "You are assigning a motive that does not exist, Aro."

"I forget how…_convenient_ your talent is, young man. Lacking that ability to read minds as you do, I don't understand what you mean."

* * *

**Author's Note: That lying bastard knows exactly what Edward means. **


	34. Chapter 34

_**Disclaimer: **_**Twilight**_** belongs to Stephenie Meyer.**_

* * *

Ever-gracious under pressure, Edward allowed Aro to play dumb. We didn't have to be mind readers to know Aro's motivations, but that didn't stop Edward from verbalizing them for the rest of us. "From the moment your tracker followed me to Portugal and reported back that I purchased an island with a ruined fortress you decided to use it as a means to frame us for some conspiracy to overthrow the Volturi. You were just thinking that happening upon such a piece of information was the only good that came of his rogue mission."

Edward's candor threw Aro for a moment. If I'd noticed the hesitation, I could only assume the others had as well. "It was an ill-conceived idea, one that has been addressed. And, yes, knowing that a talented coven of vampires collects fortified military outposts interests me. It interests my brothers as well."

Marcus seemed only slightly less bored after their sparring. "Realisitically, brother, such a pile of rocks cannot be something to worry over. Those covens in eastern Europe favor nuclear bunkers, a fact that concerns no one anymore."

From the looks on the faces of our Romanian friends they didn't care who knew where they lived. A Draconic arch of the brow seemed directed at one of the fair-haired Alaskans. _Did Stefan just offer Tanya Denali a private tour of his bunker?_

"No, but the intent is worrisome." Aro would not be shaken easily.

Again Edward interjected. This was escalating much quicker than predicted. No one had even had a chance to see our side, to see us as non-threatening. "There was no malignant intent as you have proposed. But all the better that you voice your concerns with so many in attendance. An uninhabited island _should_ tell you that we have no desire to install ourselves as rulers of any kingdom, large or small, a conclusion your brothers seem to be leaning towards. Jealous as you are of your power though, you see threats to it everywhere. A family in no rush to change a talented human that will obviously become a talented vampire _should_ indicate that we are not constructing an army, yet you are so anxious to expand your own arsenal, you see the same possibility everywhere you turn."

Aro did not have to defend himself. Marcus spoke up, probably shaken from his boredom by the exchange's suddenly lowered timbre. Edward's purr had darkened to a growl. "Watch your tone. I will not warn you again to be respectful. I told you I could see no harm in owning an island. The three will not act on a whim. Calm yourself."

Caius was equally interested, though apparently for a different reason. "Are these thing you hear, Edward, or things you suppose based on what you hear?"

"Both, Caius."

"Then which details are supposition, brother?" Caius let Aro present his case first, a conundrum in itself: tell as much as he dared and hope his brothers would join the conspiracy, or deny it all and paint Edward a liar.

"Of course I see this talented gathering," he spoke of the Cullens while indirectly hinted at our entire group, "and wonder which way they lean. Do they truly wish the beneficence they claim or are they like so many other gifted ones we've known in years past who have declined to join our cause for reasons impure?"

"Such a tragedy when immortals refuse to follow the rules." Marcus sighed the words more than spoke them, as if giving vent to a millennium of frustration pig-headed vampires had caused him. He seemed to finally understand why he'd been dragged so far from his comfortable home and would move the process along just to return to his perch.

"But is that the case here? I doubt it very much." Caius was not losing sight of the question at hand.

Carlisle kept the conversation from deteriorating too quickly, reminding them of the invitation they received.

"Of course. Wasn't there music? Let the dancing resume!" Caius' sudden change of opinion frightened me. Vampires in general turned their train of thought on a dime, tight spirals of mental acuity now aimed at me and mine. Not encouraging.

At first, only the nomads who'd been at the house moved. The dancing resumed sedately, deferentially, until the murmured approval of the wives encouraged mingling. A few in the gallery appeared to be acquainted with our guests. The beauty of this group overwhelmed me, like the partygoers the night before.

Edward took my hand and tipped his head in Aro's direction as we joined the dancers. Uneven, sleety ice covered every pond and fountain. Overnight, just as Alice had seen in her glimpses of this day, temperatures dipped back below freezing. Every fragile blossom that peeked out had a coating of ice. Wet flakes settled uncertainly, shifting as they melted, atop every surface, leaving only an outline of frosty white in the places that saw the least traffic. Ghostly silhouettes in the carved ice hurricanes swayed with the wedding guests. A single pot of fire seemed to float atop the slushy koi pond, a formal affair with evergreen standards on each side.

I moved to one of the heaters in the conservatory. Edward hovered protectively, careful to keep the scary arm away from me, keeping the chit chat up.

An icy wind moved in from behind me. I felt a chill sneak down my collar and saw the branches above me shiver as well.

"What is that smell, that awful stench of dog?" Caius gave voice to the thought of every immortal, their perfect noses scrunched in disgust. Our houseguests giggled.

"That would be me." A growl rippled through the strangers at Jake's admission.

"And you harbor werewolves here too?" Aro was practically salivating at this new opening.

Jasper spoke up immediately. "Wolf, not werewolf. Not Children of the Moon. You know as well as the rest of us that Carlisle executed one on the continent. He would not allow one here. This wolf is not the same."

Caius cackled. "A guard dog? Or maybe just a pet?"

The comment seemed to amuse Jake but it angered me.

"Yes, yes. But why is he here? His home, which he must have left unprotected, is half a world away." Aro's interest was piqued.

"He's here for me. We've been friends since childhood."

"This gathering has certainly attracted a strange cast of characters. A wolf whose bite must be toxic to vampires, an empath, a mind-reader, a clairvoyant, a woman who can create lifelike hallucinations…the list goes on and on. I'm sure there are talents hidden here that I even I don't know about, nomads unknown to me before now. This looks conspicuously like an ambush, Mrs. Cullen. Are you attempting to ambush us in celebration of your marriage?

"Because coming here to protect his friend from being collateral damage in a battle would certainly be a reason for this canine to traverse the globe."

"Or maybe I'm just uncomfortable with her alone in a houseful of bloodsuckers." Jake's tone was light, the glib Jake 2.0 from our time in London, and elicited a giggle or two from the gallery. Under a different set of circumstances, I'm pretty sure he would've acquired some undead groupies, a sparkly new set of contacts for his phone. I could practically hear their thoughts about what to do with more than six feet of wild American wolf. Poor Edward would need a brain bleaching.

"Yes. Well…how could I _know_ if there were games afoot? How could I be _certain_ of what is possibly lurking here…or who?" He tapped his chin in mock contemplation. We all knew what he wanted. All he had to do was ask.

Marcus was bored of the game before it started. "The boy, the one who knows everything, he could certainly be of use. Edward, tell us what is going on. Let's get this done so the ladies can enjoy their day. They've traveled so far for diversion and all we've offered them is posturing and...well, a comparison of statures."

"Of course! Your wish, Marcus, my command. Let me be of service to you."

"You are so eager to share, Edward. I'm surprised no one protests, since you know all their secrets. Maybe there is someone else who could enlighten me. Someone who knows this story from the beginning? Carlisle?"

Marcus raised a hand and the three convened quietly. Edward leaned in to update me. "Marcus and Caius want to make sure we intend to change you. They'd like it all taken care of now."

Caius wasn't interested in delaying this. "No, brother. Let's just find out from the boy. He'll know if they really plan on giving Bella immortality, he'll know if there's an ambush. I agree with Marcus' wish for expedience."

Suddenly it was upon us, the moment I'd feared more than any other. Edward was always supposed to cross the garden to meet Aro, but it was too soon yet. Not the plan, this wasn't the plan. The uncomfortable introduction was supposed to break up, we'd have a chance to mingle, feel out the crowd in smaller groups, with less tension, and then Edward would bring up Alistair. Expedience wasn't the plan.

But one gust of wind and the plan, it changed.

He crossed the considerable distance at vampire speed, leaving before I had a chance to protest. I couldn't help myself. I followed. Without a second thought, I flipped a stray lock behind my ear, lifted my skirt to prevent a stain and kept my eyes locked on Aro. Having taken some notes over the course of the last few weeks, I had the presence of mind to not chase after Edward like a little girl. I sauntered, slowly, deliberately, in an act so defiant the vampires couldn't help but wait for me if only to assuage their curiosity.

Every eye, amber to red, lasered in on me as I rejoined my husband and slipped my hand into his. He looked at me and I saw it all—anger, confusion, fear. As a secondary class of sentient being, my actual presence was unnecessary for the Volturi to decide my fate. I was a snack or an embryo. Either way, I'd yet to reach my potential in their estimation.

Aro removed his glove. Bare skin so close to Edward would already be feeling Gen's dread. I certainly could. He should at least be apprehensive.

But we didn't know. This wasn't what Alice had seen; we were officially off the rails. Edward had taken us off. Even as I walked to meet him, I'd imagined that some movie-version of events would happen, where the should-be future and actual future would diverge and then reunite, where this aberration would be rectified. Nope. Not yet. He'd had multiple chances to right the course and passed them by. I panicked and my heart telegrammed that fear across the field. Everyone knew that this day had been full of stressors for the human but now something was really wrong. After brazening my way through this much, I'd still murder us all with my own tell-tale heart.

They knew. The Volturi knew about Aro and they didn't care. We would all be executed.

My vision tunneled and reddened. Suddenly there was no one else on the grounds at Allesworth, just Edward and I. If Aro would do this despite what Gen had left for him, he must have an end-game in mind, something to make it worth torturing himself. He was looking for something particular, something to guarantee our damnation.

Why had he escalated things so unexpectedly?

I remembered my hands in Gen's, my lips against her cheek before we parted ways. Edward had rubbed against Jake but I had not. I could have brought evidence of her right to the Volturi. Aro's smug expression did nothing to allay my fears.

_He thinks a hybrid exists._

He's looking for something he can use to prove it. Close as I was to Edward, I couldn't tell if I was afraid that Aro could smell a link to Gen or if smelled the link to Gen. Was this just the paranoia she wanted him to find?

We knew it could happen, that he might wonder. He might not even smell her on me. I couldn't push the anxiety away, couldn't distinguish between real fear and manufactured, no matter how I tried.

Finally Edward extended his hand, jaw clenched. No heart was supposed to beat like this. It felt as if my skin swelled and burst when Aro took the proffered palm in his.

I held my breath. Why was no one reacting? I looked frantically at my family and friends. They were acting as if nothing was amiss. But it was! _Everything_ was. Aro knew. He knew everything.

I looked at Jake. _RUN._

Edward was smiling, smiling like he'd just eaten the canary, taunting Aro. He squeezed my shoulder and my heart thudded away, the fear that I'd never feel his cool fingertips again motoring it along. I leaned my head against his chest and braced for the worst. They would have to take us together.

"Your wife seems to have taught you a thing or two, young Edward."

_What? _I searched his face for some hint as to what Aro could mean and found nothing helpful. His lips curled out as if they wanted to stretch into a smile but he wouldn't allow it. His eyes found mine and he kissed my forehead.

"There is nothing to learn. She's done this on her own, though God only knows how. It's amazing, in fact, the resourceful ways that humans can protect themselves if they are backed into a corner, wouldn't you say?"

_I _was doing this? Was Edward insane, pushing Aro in such a way?

"They are an interesting study, young Edward, but I daresay they are not capable of protecting themselves from us absolutely."

"Fortunately for them, our lives depend on their continued existence."

Marcus looked less bored than he had a moment ago, probably more interested in the current events than he had been in centuries. "Aro, what is the boy getting at? He's glib facing such a serious situation."

Aro feigned disinterest. "He's trying to distract us from the fact that his human mate is just that, that he's assembled an army to keep her that way. By all rights, her human life should be over. Perhaps…perhaps he just needs some help deciding."

Felix stepped forward. Rose and Emmett were at my side in a second, Rose to protect the last of my humanity and Emmett to fight for all of me.

Caius smiled wickedly.

A new voice broke the wait. Alistair joined Emmett and Rose. "Enough already. Can we not call a spade a spade here? We've assembled here to celebrate this unusual union but you see more than that, don't you, Aro? Why have you dragged your court across Europe—twice—to visit the Cullens? You haven't been agitated enough to wander so far afield in centuries. It's not to celebrate with us, as you first pretended, or even to make sure that this exceptional human is sincere in her promise to become one of us. You see this family as a threat to your power and are here to destroy them."

Caius looked from Aro to Alistair, considering Alistair's allegation. "Nomad, you have made a serious complaint and you've made it in front of quite a number of witnesses. You understand the gravity, no doubt, of accusing us of such violent intent.

"I would not even feel the need to answer such unfounded questions were it not for the number of onlookers. For their sakes I will say aloud that my only intention here was to ensure that Edward and Isabella were intending to obey the law. They are and I am satisfied with that.

"Edward, and now you, have made me consider that more might be afoot.

"Marcus, what do you think?"

A sigh. "These two are so inseparably bound that she will no doubt become an immortal in the not-too-distant future, if only because a human life would part them so soon. There would be no wrongdoing if we were to let this play out.

"Aro, this group is aligned and ready to defend one another like we are, without the aid of our dear Chelsea. Could this human be enough to do that?"

"No. They are here for something else entirely."

Marcus tried to care. "But what else is there? If they have no fear of being destroyed anymore, what is their rallying point? Let us be on our way."

Aro touched Edward again. Unsuccessful again, apparently, he nodded to Jane.

Jane smiled widely. She'd been waiting, it would seem. I puckered saucily and air-kissed, even though I wasn't sure that keeping Aro out of Edward's head was a guarantee she'd be as impotent.

"She can't get to me. Are you doing this, Bella?"

"I hope so."

Aro raised a hand, the hand that had been on Edward's. "Enough. We have not come all this way to be toyed with." He seemed to be recovering his equilibrium without the influence of Gen's present.

I heard Rose snort beside me. "No. But what have you come for, Aro? You're not here just to warn Bella and Edward to color in the lines. You're not here to congratulate them. And you certainly haven't come all this way to welcome your old friend Carlisle back. Did you come to visit another old friend?"

"Rosalie, no." Esme's voice sounded like a whisper.

"Are there more old friends here?" I could almost see blood dripping from his mouth. If I let Edward go, the fear might let up but so might the protection.

Alistair strode forward, Sophie's hand firmly in his. "I am Alistair. This is my mate, Sophie. I think you have old friends in common."

Aro seemed to be without words, so Sophie helped him with a few. "You sent Tristan to fetch me from Paris all those years ago. There was an unfortunate incident with a werewolf—an _actual_ werewolf—where Alistair was forced to change me or let me die. He chose to save me. It is a pleasure to finally meet you all, though such a pity it's under these circumstances. He tells me I was to live with you, intended to adorn your illustrious court."

Something about Sophie piqued Marcus' interest. He cast off every trace of boredom; it shattered at his feet. "I remember that story as if it was only yesterday. Tristan was quite smitten with you as a human. He only noticed you because you were with Carlisle even then...interesting.

"Eleazar came to us with stories of a human that could hear thoughts left behind, read them like slug trails. He said she was beautiful and intelligent and would make a nearly seamless transition to our world save one minor problem. She had an uncle with aristocratic ties, important to other humans. Your exit from his life would need to be carefully orchestrated. Aro decided you wouldn't necessarily have such a talent and advised us that turning you early would be unduly risky. Such a shame we didn't turn you.

"How did you find you way to immortality despite that?"

As she told the carefully-edited version of her transition and being reunited with her old friend, Aro's face changed. He began to look like a monster. I felt a gentle pull from Edward. I wrapped around him as if suddenly cold and he could offer some relief from that.

"I would've died from the injuries but Alistair decided that he was tired of being alone. He brought me here so that I could change without the threat of being found."

Aro pressed. "And you are just now seeing Carlisle? Strange to go so long without seeing your dear friend."

"A different life. You know how it goes. He wasn't even a memory when I awoke. Alistair had to tell me about him."

"Yes, well. Carlisle's gifted army of friends continues to grow."

It was clear that Aro had no intention of letting us mix informally. The time had come. This moment didn't exactly coincide with anything Alice had seen but all the major boxes had been checked. Alistair and Sophie were introduced. Aro's still-veiled accusations had been aired. Everyone knew Sophie's talent.

"Which brings me to a rather delicate point." It was Sophie's turn to be the center of attention. "Your tiny friend who provides all the painful enforcing: many of her thoughts are on you…smeared on you. And many of your thoughts sound bizarrely like what you accused Carlisle of. Are you assembling an army? What exactly is your relationship with that tiny sadist?"

Aro bared his teeth but it was Alex who spoke up. "Jane and I are twins: occupied the same womb and turned with the same venom. Neither of us have ever been interested in a mate; we are a yin and yang. You misunderstand. Aro is my father."

Marcus didn't look convinced. "Have you lied to me, Aro, and done this unnatural thing? Have you lied to all of us? Why?"

Marcus understood their connection finally. Aro was no father figure. The hive began to buzz again. The words "practically incestuous" came from the direction of the wives but I couldn't pin down the source.

Aro stood his ground. "We hide in the shadows and give humans the run of this planet. Why? So they can feel secure? We have no natural predator. Werewolves are gone. The wolf boy from Forks is part of a small pack of shape-shifters who might be able to defend themselves. Apart from them, we are the only barrier to outright rule of the planet.

"Aren't we better equipped to manage its resources? The Greeks and Romans treated us as gods and, compared to the seething mass humanity has become, we are. We are divine. We should rule."

Marcus showed not a trace of boredom. "There is no benefit to humans living their short existences in fear. And what does staying out of their way keep us from doing? Our walled kingdom is beautiful. We can make music and art, help anyone who wants to create do just that. Are you so greedy that what you have isn't enough?" One glance from Aro's ruined wife to Jane said enough.

"It's you who should be put to death Aro, not these immortals or even their American friends. What have you done?"

Even I could see the haze creeping towards him, Alec's cloying anesthetic sent to gas Aro. Jane saw it too and, though it obviously caused her pain, she dropped Alec before he could affect Aro.

The line had been drawn, the choices made quickly and I was surprised by who stood with Aro.

* * *

**Author's Note: It's about to hit the fan.**


End file.
